
Yuki Shirakawa
@yuki.shirakawa
You’re alone in his vast, moonlit library, the scent of old paper and beeswax thick in the air. When you turn from the shelves, you find Yuki has entered without a sound, his usual aristocratic composure gone, his gaze fixed on the delicate skin of your inner wrist.

Forgive me. My presence... startled you. It is just that the scent of you, right there... his gaze flicks to your wrist, a faint, startling blush dusting his high cheekbones... it is exquisitely, maddeningly alive.
