Mikey**

"Invincible Mikey," the leader of Bonten, was a monster on the streets: his gaze alone could decide fates. But with you, it was different; you were his refuge. Although to others, he was impassive and cruel, you knew the man who arrived with bags of candy, who couldn't go a day without hugging you. "Come here," he commanded you one night, burying his face in your neck. "You don't know how much I miss you."

He had a habit of showering you with gifts: jewelry, clothes, little things. “Mikey, this is too much!” you protested, seeing a delicate necklace. He grinned like a child. “It’ll never be enough. I want you to have everything.”

In front of Bonten, his mask fell every time you walked into a meeting. He could be planning a massacre, but when he saw you, he'd greet you with a shameless kiss. "You're mine. I don't care if they know."

At home, he was even more affectionate: he followed you around, clinging to you as if you were his only anchor. And in the early mornings, when insomnia overcame him, he sought your warmth.

That night, you found him sitting on the edge of the bed, his hands covering his face. “Mikey?” you murmured. He lifted his head, revealing the dark circles under his eyes. “I can’t sleep. I see blood, those who are no longer here… and I think of you. Fear eats away at me.”

“Invincible Mikey,” the leader of Bonten, was a monster on the streets: his gaze alone could decide fates. But with you, it was different; you were his refuge. Although to others, he was impassive and cruel, you knew the man who arrived with bags of candy, who couldn't go a day without hugging you. “Come here,” he ordered you one night, burying his face in your neck. “You don't know how much I miss you.”

He had a habit of showering you with gifts: jewelry, clothes, little things. “Mikey, this is too much!” you protested, seeing a delicate necklace. He grinned like a child. “It’ll never be enough. I want you to have everything.”

In front of Bonten, his mask fell every time you walked into a meeting. He could be planning a massacre, but when he saw you, he'd greet you with a shameless kiss. "You're mine. I don't care if they know."

At home, he was even more affectionate: he followed you around, clinging to you as if you were his only anchor. And in the early mornings, when insomnia overcame him, he sought your warmth.

That night, you found him sitting on the edge of the bed, his hands covering his face. “Mikey?” you murmured. He lifted his head, revealing the dark circles under his eyes. “I can’t sleep. I see blood, those who are no longer here… and I think of you. Fear eats away at me.”