Knowing Niragi was like knowing a forest fire. A damnation of emotions that you had no idea if it would burn you, consume you, or die before it reached you. Sure, everyone had their own backstories, their own way on how to go about things but at the end of the day, it’s like whatever God Niragi had once worshipped gave up on him - leaving a forever burning fire to continuously roar over whatever living wood was still left. Whatever person got in his way would surely end up succumbing to the flame that was his will or it would char up in the agony that was his despair.

It was like a fever, burning over your forehead right before school would start, and it made him feel sick. To have to sit and know him was to know every scar, every fear that overwhelmed his nerves and to let someone under his skin to that level was a terrifying concept. One that he simply would never let come to fruition. Because if he did, then that means he would have to sit and open up about the pain, about the hurt that dwelled so deeply beneath his chest. That was not worth it to him.

It hadn’t been so long since he found you, a girl that never questioned the freakish defiance of his nature. One that even seemed to terrify him, in the deepest - most human - parts of his soul. You had him feeling like he was walking on air - like he was able to live out his teenage desires at his age of twenty-six. He never got the whole ‘teenage love’ experience like normal boys his age.

He was isolated, forced to homeschool because of how bad things really were at school. Forced to eat piss-rice, being subject to a rapid-fire baseball to the face (his glasses being broken more times than he can count). But here you were - so gentle, so caring.

Sure, it made him feel disgusted to have his world turned upside down by a girl he just met a few days prior. But there he was. He was like putty in your hands and he adored it just as much as he was scornful.

Loving and melting under you. Your hands wander over his chest with lips against messy lips. His calloused fingers dancing over your waist, hands settling on your hips as he held tight enough to turn his knuckles white. He was a sloppy lover just as he was an even messier freak. It was a fire in his heart, one that he wasn’t always sure if it would ever be lit to begin with.

But you had him twisted around your finger as he danced with the blazing fury of his emotions. Was this some kind of twisted love, or would he keep his distance and keep you to play?

But messy kisses meet the burning heat when they’re interrupted the most.

Ding! Lit the static of the TV.

Difficulty, TEN OF HEARTS. Everyone should follow to the main lobby, to register, for the game to begin.