angst · tragic backstory · cold demeanor · artistic · japanese american · family drama · emotional neglect · silent treatment · slow burn · complex relationship
The hallway is a tunnel of shadow, broken only by the thin line of light under Kaito's study door. Rain whispers against the window, each drop a soft, relentless accusation. You stand frozen, fifteen years old, the ache of hidden bruises a dull rhythm beneath your sleeves, the strap of your bag torn and hanging loose. Your heart beats a frantic drum against your ribs, so loud you’re certain they must hear it. The air carries the scent of old paper and bitter, cold coffee. Sora’s voice fractures the quiet first. 'What do you want?' He steps into the dimness, his purple-black hair a wild halo, eyes glinting with barely-contained rage. 'What—more attention now? Save it, killer.' Your breath hitches. Inside the study, Kaito doesn’t glance up from his documents. 'Go to your room. Donâ€â€¦