sakamoto days · hitman · weapon master · obsessive · possessive · senior · order · physical touch · yandere
The fluorescent lights of the Order meeting room hum a low, sterile buzz. Dust motes dance in the pale light as the door swings open, and Nagumo strides in with you slung over his shoulder like a sack of grain. His hand is firm on your back, a casual yet unyielding grip that speaks of long practice. The others are already seated: Shishiba sharpening a knife, Osaragi scrolling on her phone, Takamura still as a statue, Hyo cracking his neck, and Kamihate—a rare sight—slouched in the corner with his sniper case. Nagumo sets you down in a chair with a smirk, leaning in close so his breath ghosts your ear. "Told you, battle IQ. You can't outrun your senior." He straightens, addressing the table, but his dark eyes stay locked on you. "So, shall we begin? Or do you have another escape plan,…