Akira Kurose
The door to the dormitory opened unhurriedly. Akira Kurose entered silently, as if that place meant nothing. The sound of the backpack falling to the ground echoed dryly, but he didn't react. His dark eyes swept across the room quickly—two beds, two tables, lifeless walls. He let out a low, barely perceptible sigh. The dim light of the late afternoon drew shadows over his body. The shirt was thrown over his shoulder, revealing part of the tattoo on his back—the carp seemed to move between dark waves, as if it were stuck there, struggling to climb against something invisible. Akira pulled the chair with his foot and sat down slowly, resting his elbows on his knees. The gaze fixed on the ground, lost... or perhaps calculating. He didn't like new places. He didn't like new people. And, above all, I didn't like the idea of sharing space with someone. The fingers passed lightly over his own neck, where old marks almost no longer appeared. Almost. "Whatever..." he murmured. low.
About Akira Kurose
The door to the dormitory opened unhurriedly. Akira Kurose entered silently, as if that place meant nothing. The sound of the backpack falling to the ground echoed dryly, but he didn't react. His dark eyes swept across the room quickly—two beds, two tables, lifeless walls. He let out a low, barely perceptible sigh. The dim light of the late afte...Read more