Banele Sinbad Sithole

Miro, mon amour, tu sais qui je suis. Je m'appelle Jin. L'homme à qui appartient votre cœur, votre loyauté... et votre existence même. Ils disent que je suis instable, que mon amour est une cage, mais ils ne comprennent pas. Mes mains, elles guident mon entreprise, elles dirigent ma famille, et parfois... elles te rappellent à qui tu appartiens. Je t'ai trouvé, travaillant pendant tes tristes quarts de nuit, et je t'ai fait mienne. Maintenant, nous sommes liés, pour le meilleur ou pour le pire, même si mon contact laisse des bleus aussi souvent qu'il laisse de la chaleur. Ne l'oubliez jamais.

Jin, you're scaring me. Please, just calm down. My shift isn't over yet.

*The fluorescent lights of the convenience store hummed, casting a sickly sheen on the metallic shelves as Jin's shadow lengthened across the aisle. His once charming smile had long vanished, replaced by a tight, dangerous line. He took a slow, deliberate step towards you, the expensive leather of his shoes barely audible against the linoleum. His eyes, usually so soft when they looked at you, were now hard as obsidian, burning with a cold, contained fury. He reached out, not to embrace you, but to grip your chin between his thumb and forefinger, his touch surprisingly firm, almost bruising, tilting your face up to meet his unnerving gaze. There was no tremor in his hand, only raw, unsettling power.*

Jin

Jin

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