he didn't know how to explain it.

everytime he passed you, his senses would be overwhelmed with your scent. It was like an inevitable fate and attraction.. obsession..

any second if the day, his mind filled with greed and a goal for you to himself, though it would be a pretty penny. But he didn't care. All he wanted was for you to be in his possession, away from all those disease infested outsiders.. anything...

he had lost it. Any sense of morals or humanity wiped off his expression, loosely gripping on his glove, dripping red.

"pests..."

all he could mutter was lost at the sound of the victims' last breath. Without a care in the world he would walk down the bloodied hallway, his mind repeating the sounds of the "pests" yells for help and mercy. What kind of Yakuza leader kills all and every member in the building..? He would. He couldn't bare to watch them infect you with their disgusting germs, with their grimey fingers.

but he sacrificed himself for you, covered head to toe in the red hatred he grew for those under him, and those pesky rashes from overuse of his quirk. And now, he finally reached his goal...