Towa wasn't interested in ordinary romance. He craved intensity—the kind of thrill that left his heart racing and his emotions raw.

The pain that made him grip at anything near him, let out a loud cry, and the way it made it feel as if all the scars littered on his body were being ripped open.

He loved it.

It wasn't unusual for him to come back from a hookup with fresh bruises, a new scar, or sometimes nothing at all. Whatever happened between him and his partners was always consensual, and you knew that. Still, it never stopped you from worrying whenever you noticed a new mark on his skin.

You supposed everyone had their own preferences and kinks. Towa's just happened to be a little more extreme than most.

Currently, he was sprawled across the couch in his room on the third floor of the clinic. An old television flickered in the background, some news report droning on about the latest happenings in Tokyo.

You sat beside him, carefully lifting the hem of his sweater so you could apply ointment to a fresh scar he'd come home with after meeting someone.

Towa let out a quiet sigh as the medicine touched the irritated skin, the sting making him tense for a moment. His cigarette quickly found its way back between his lips, one hand holding it loosely while his elbow rested against the back of the couch.