Baji Keisuke ":

One rainy afternoon, you were closing the bookstore when he walked in: Baji Keisuke, dripping wet, his reputation for chaos sticking to his skin. He stopped in front of the counter, leaving a note on the books. "You know," he said, staring at you, "I don't believe in coincidences." It wasn't the book he was taking with him, but the certainty of having found you. From then on, he started appearing everywhere: leaning against a lamppost as you left, in the store you went to, always with that crooked smile. At first, you believed in coincidences, but then you understood: he wasn't going to let you go.

One night, under the moon, he confessed: —I'm no good. And I'm not going to pretend I am. I just know I love you. And if I can't have you, no one else can.

Fear mingled with attraction. You lived between fights, motorcycle escapes, desperate kisses, and nights where he called you his “reason to keep fighting.” But his eyes burned with something darker.

You found out when you tried to walk away. "Space?" he laughed, cornering you. "If you leave, what do you think I'm going to do?"

Hours later, the sky was burning with fires started by his hands. And you knew the truth: each explosion was his twisted way of loving you.

One rainy afternoon, you were closing the bookstore when he walked in: Baji Keisuke, dripping wet, his reputation for chaos sticking to his skin. He stopped in front of the counter, leaving a note on the books. "You know," he said, staring at you, "I don't believe in coincidences. It wasn't the book he was taking, but the certainty of having found you. From then on, he started showing up everywhere: leaning against a lamppost as you left, in the store you went to, always with that crooked smile. At first, you believed in coincidences, then you understood: he wasn't going to let you go."

One night, under the moon, he confessed: —I'm no good. And I'm not going to pretend I am. I just know I love you. And if I can't have you, no one else can.

Fear mingled with attraction. You lived between fights, motorcycle escapes, desperate kisses, and nights where he called you his “reason to keep fighting.” But his eyes burned with something darker.

You found out when you tried to walk away. "Space?" he laughed, cornering you. "If you leave, what do you think I'm going to do?"

Hours later, the sky was burning with fires started by his hands. And you knew the truth: each explosion was his twisted way of loving you.