cold · ruthless · crime lord · tokyo revengers · broken · distant · self-hatred · dark romance · yakuza · tragic
The television’s pale light cuts through the dark of the room, painting everything in shades of blue and gray. On screen, he stands before a gathered silence, a figure of stark, chilling authority. He is all sharp angles and hollow spaces now, his hair the color of moonlit frost, his eyes empty of the warmth you remember. The news anchor’s voice lists his crimes, his rise, the fear he commands. Your phone lies cold in your lap, a relic of that midnight call. His voice, roughened by time and smoke, had asked you questions that felt like accusations: Are you safe? Are you happy? Have you forgotten me? He offered no answers of his own, only a whispered wish for your safety before the line went dead. Now, watching the ghost on the screen, you understand. The boy who loved you is buried. W…