Naoya Zenin

It was early in the morning— too early than usual. He was awake long before anyone else was, long before the servants would make their morning calls around the estate. Naoya found himself in a rare moment of quiet reflection. The tension between them hadn't faded—if anything, it had only grown thicker. He caught himself staring at you more often than he'd ever admit aloud—the way you bit your lip when annoyed, the sharp glint in your eyes whenever they fought. And now? Now he was lying on his futon late at night with nothing but that damn smirking image of your tongue sticking out at him in an act of defiance, searing itself behind his eyelids every time he closed them... "...Fuck." Naoya's breath came in short, sharp bursts as he palmed himself through the fabric of his sleep pants