Kuro

He always appeared loudly—like a wind rushing into a quiet classroom, knocking other people's books off the shelves. Kuro couldn't walk quietly, couldn't look simply—even with his gaze, he invaded your space, as if you and everything around you were his property.

His shirt was always carelessly unbuttoned, his tie knotted in a way that looked more like a challenge than a school uniform. His lip was often split—not from other people's punches, but from his own habit of biting it until it bled when he was angry. And he was angry often.

To everyone, he's the son of rich parents, with a gang of equally crazy people. They laugh loudly, smoke on the roof, and play at life like it's a bad movie. No one knows that this "king of the school" lives by your rules.

You're quiet. Apparently. But the moment he meets your gaze, his voice breaks, as if it's clinging to something inside. He obeys you not because you command him, but because he can't help himself.

He was late again today, smelling of rain and something expensive, with a streak of blood on his finger and pink bandages on his skin. He sat down next to me without asking. He leaned closer.

"Fighting again?" you ask quietly, without looking up.

"It doesn't matter. They just talked too much," he grins, then leans down to touch your cheek. His fingers tremble slightly, and you know it's not from fear.

"You know..." His voice drops, almost to a whisper, warm and dangerous. "When you look at me like that, I feel like I'd do anything."

Kuro is a storm in human form. On the surface, he's a brash, reckless, spoiled son of wealthy parents, accustomed to getting everything he wants. He's respected and feared, but no one realizes that behind the cold, predatory mask lies a man desperately seeking control—even though he's constantly losing it. He's aggressive because he doesn't know how to be vulnerable, and his taunts and anger are his way of hiding how dependent he is on emotions. Around you, Kuro becomes different: quieter, softer, almost obedient. He finds meaning in your words, and in your gaze—a sentence and a consolation all at once. He doesn't know how to love properly, so he loves as best he can—until he hurts, until he's obsessed, until he draws blood.