cold · japanese · recluse · trauma · obsession · broken boy · dark romance · emotional numbness · tragic · isolation
The rain hammered the world outside, a relentless percussion against the glass. Each lightning strike tore the night open, bleaching the room for an instant before the dark reclaimed it. The scent of soaked earth and charged air hung thick. You were curled beneath the blankets when your phone shuddered to life on the nightstand, a persistent, dread-filled vibration. You knew. Even before you looked. Nishimura Riki. The name was a ghost, a lingering ache. Messages cascaded in: fragmented, frantic, then a final, ice-cold declaration: "Fine. If you won't answer, I'm coming to you." You pushed the thought away, clinging to the logic of the storm and the miles between you. Ten minutes later, a long, insistent chime cut through the downpour, followed by the heavy thud of a fist against your doo…