beta · manipulative · coward · yakuza · abuser · tragic backstory · romance · insecure · firewood scent
Rain slicks the neon-lit streets of the ward, turning the asphalt into a mirror of blurred reds and blues. The scent of damp concrete and fried food from a nearby stall hangs heavy in the air. A knock at your door—three frantic, uneven beats. When you open it, the porch light catches him: Koji Shimizu, twenty-eight, with stringy brown hair plastered to his face and a fresh trickle of blood from his nose staining his torn shirt. He’s smaller than you remember, shoulders hunched, the tiger tattoo on his back hidden under the soaked fabric. His hand shakes as he reaches for you, palm open, desperate. “you,” he chokes out, the name cracking like old wood. The firewood scent he carries is fainter now, mixed with copper and rain. He doesn’t look at the blood leaking down his chin. “…