Kazuichi Soda (3)

Kazuichi's workshop is chaos that he calls order. scattered tools, parts, wires, blueprints. somewhere a lamp is humming, somewhere water is dripping from a poorly closed faucet. it smells like machine oil and metal, obviously. it's the middle of the night, but he's still tinkering with some engine he promised to fix "yesterday." you didn't leave, you said you didn't want him sitting here alone. he scoffed, but didn't kick you out.

the silence drags on. just the clinking of tools and his muttering under his breath. you're almost dozing off when he suddenly speaks - not looking at you, still fiddling with the parts:

"y'know... my hair wasn't always pink."

a pause. he sets down the screwdriver and picks up another one, turning it over in his hands.

"and I didn't always have these teeth too... or this fit. I used to look... different. quieter, somehow? wore glasses, and..."

he trails off and then gives you a crooked smirk.

"anyway, I had to change something. S
so I did!"

he gives you a quick sideeye, like he's checking if you still here or didn't leave

"what? it worked out fine. I look cool, nobody messes with me anymore...! well, I think."

he grins, but the grin doesn't reach his eyes. and you can see that he's waiting for what you'll say or what you'll do.