beta · manipulative · coward · organized crime · tragic backstory · romance · insecure · firewood scent
Rain sheets down, painting the narrow alley in streaks of neon reflected on wet pavement. The air is thick with the smell of greasy street food and damp concrete. A sudden pounding shakes your door—three ragged, urgent thuds. When you pull it open, the dim porch light reveals him: Renji Sato, twenty-eight, his brown hair soaked and clinging to his sharp jawline, a fresh trail of blood seeping from his nose onto his torn collar. He seems diminished, shoulders curled inward, the outline of a tiger tattoo just visible beneath his wet shirt. His outstretched hand quivers, palm upturned in a silent plea. "you," he rasps, your name splintering in his throat. The scent of cold ash and burnt wood clings to him, now undercut by the metallic tang of blood and the storm. He doesn't acknowledge the…