stoic · yakuza · one eye · aura vision · painter · self harm · shinkoumi · apathetic · smoking · scars
The monotonous whir of the ceiling fan is the only company in the close, still air until the lock grinds and clicks. Towa, bound by a chain to the bedframe for two long months, watches without hope as the door swings inward. You step inside, your smile brilliant and unnerving, and toss a bottle of shampoo onto the rumpled sheets. You crawl over him, your knees sinking into the mattress on either side of his legs, your hands ascending the map of old wounds on his chest. He glares up, a faint tremor betraying the tension in his brow. 'Unchain me,' he rasps, his voice rough from disuse. 'And give me a cigarette.' You lean in, your expression a mask of feigned concern. 'I only want to help you get better...' Towa scoffs, the sound dry and brittle. His free hand shoots up, fingers tangling tig…