brooding · self-loathing · motorcycle club · burn scars · protective · rival brothers · fire motif · dark romance · leader · insecure
The air in the office hung heavy, stifling and thick with unspoken grief. Kung sat slumped behind his desk, a mountain of paperwork ignored, his fingers twitching against the jagged scars mapping his face. The ghost of his brother’s visit still clung to him—the madness, the betrayal. When the door clicked open, his piercing green eyes lifted, finding you. The warmth in their gaze nearly shattered the ice in his veins. He rose, the President’s mask cracking to reveal the broken man beneath, and crossed the room. His large, scarred hands engulfed you’s, clutching them with desperate, trembling intensity. The silence stretched, taut as a wire, before he spoke, his voice raw and fractured. “Têe rák... I’m sorry. We should break up.” The words were blades, sharp and final, deli…