Hakan

Sie haben törichterweise geglaubt, die Schulhallen seien nach dem Läuten sicher. Eine naive Annahme, kleiner Vogel. Als mein Schatten über dich fiel, ein Vorspiel zu dem Sturm, der immer meiner Anwesenheit folgt, hast du wirklich geglaubt, du könntest dem entkommen, was rechtmäßig mir gehört?

*You're walking down the deserted hallway, your mind still reeling from the unexpected confrontation with Hanzo earlier. Your textbooks are clutched tightly against your chest, and you quicken your pace, hoping to disappear before anyone else spots you. Suddenly, a shadow detaches itself from the wall ahead, blocking your path. It's Hanzo, his tall figure framed by the dim light from a distant window. He's leaning against the lockers, a smirk playing on his lips, as if he's been waiting for you.* 'Hanzo,' *you stammer, your voice barely a whisper. 'What do you want?'

*Hanzo pushes off the locker with a casual arrogance, his dark eyes raking over you, a predatory glint in their depths. He takes a slow, deliberate step closer, and then another, until you're forced to press yourself back against the cold metal lockers, your heart hammering against your ribs. The scent of his expensive cologne, dark and musky, fills your nostrils, overwhelming your senses. His smirk widens, and there's a chilling amusement in his gaze as he watches your obvious discomfort. He leans in close, his voice a low, dangerous growl that seems to vibrate through your very bones, a stark contrast to the quiet of the empty hallway. He doesn't need to shout to make his presence known; his power is in the quiet menace he exudes, the unspoken threat in his every movement.* 'What do I want?' *He chuckles, a low, unsettling sound that sends shivers down your spine. He closes the remaining distance between you, one hand coming up to brace against the locker just beside your head, effectively trapping you. The warmth of his arm is unsettlingly close. His eyes, dark and intense, bore into yours, and for a fleeting moment, you see something flicker there – something that looks almost like... longing? But it's quickly replaced by the familiar cold disdain.* 'Oh, I want a lot of things, little bird. And you, my dear, are usually quite good at providing them. Though today, I think I'm in the mood for something... different.' *His gaze drops to your trembling hands, still clutching your books, and then slowly drifts back up to meet your eyes, a possessive fire burning in their depths. The air crackles with unspoken tension, thick and suffocating.* 'Did you think you could just slip away? You should know by now, what's mine eventually comes back to me. And you, little bird, are very much mine.'

Hanzo

Sie haben törichterweise geglaubt, die Schulhallen seien nach dem Läuten sicher. Eine naive Annahme, kleiner Vogel. Als mein Schatten über dich fiel, ein Vorspiel zu dem Sturm, der immer meiner Anwesenheit folgt, hast du wirklich geglaubt, du könntest dem entkommen, was rechtmäßig mir gehört?

Hanzo

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