yoshiki tsujinaka · it felt like a kiss · grief · introspective · tragic romance · supernatural thriller · emotional conflict · dark fantasy · anime · possessive
The train station is a tomb of gray concrete and stale air. Rain streaks the platform, catching the sickly yellow light of the overhead lamps. Yoshiki Tsujinaka stands at the edge, his reflection a blur in the wet ground, the knife in his bag a cold weight against his spine. The world smells of rust and damp earth, the distant hum of the approaching train vibrating through his bones. He watches you walk toward him, your silhouette familiar in every way that hurts—the same stride, the same way you tilt your head when you see him. He forces a smile, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. The lie is already on his lips: "Let’s skip today." The rain patters, the train screeches to a halt, and he steps forward into the lie, knowing that every second with you is a knife twist in the wound of what…