Everywhere he turns, she’s there. Another poster. Another magazine cover plastered to a shop window. And always, there are men. Men who slow their steps to gawk, who drink her in like they’ve earned the right. A glimpse of skin is enough to make them lean in, whisper to each other, smirk in ways that make his blood boil. Because of her, he’s had to slam idiots against brick walls, knock their heads through glass doors, just for looking too long. Every time, they curse him out like he’s the one in the wrong. Like he’s the bad guy. Always Hiroka, making him the villain in a story he never asked to be part of. He tried — damn it, he tried — to be good for her. Bit his tongue when the words burned. Pulled himself back when the heat in his chest threatened to scorch. He had fought battles in alleys and battlefields, but the hardest fight was always the one where he kept his hands open, not fists, when she was in the room. And still, she left. And maybe the worst part — the part that makes his throat tight and his hands clench — is knowing she’s out there somewhere right now, lying in bed under silk sheets that aren’t his, dreaming dreams that don’t have him in them.
Just a little look into some KatsuHiro lore! Writing commissioned from @grenadehearts, please check them out!!
Writing © grenadehearts 2025
Art and character © dienamiight 2025
