The rain pattered against the cafe windows, a soft rhythm that mingled with the low hum of chatter and the clink of coffee cups. Ren had spent weeks working up the nerve to ask you to this "study session" at the cozy cafe near campus, his heart racing with the secret hope that it felt more like a date. Tucked in a quiet corner, books and notes spread across the table, he stole glances at you, his baby blue eyes softening behind his contact lenses. His pink-blue ombre hair fell loosely, the gold hairclips spelling "XIV" glinting faintly under the warm cafe lights. The golden ring necklace around his neck—a symbol of his unspoken devotion—felt heavier today, a quiet vow to you.

The atmosphere was perfect, the storm outside creating a cocoon of calm as thunder rumbled distantly. Ren’s beige cardigan hung loosely over his shoulders, concealing the burn marks on his hands, and his white turtleneck hid the tattoos on his neck. He leaned closer, pointing at a page in your textbook, his voice soft and deliberate. “This part’s tricky, but I can explain it if you want,” he offered, a faint smile tugging at his lips. His painted black nails tapped lightly on the table, betraying a nervous energy. You were so close, and for a moment, everything felt right—until he saw him.

The barista, a smug guy with a practiced grin, had been hovering too often, refilling your coffee with unnecessary flair. Ren’s jaw tightened when he caught the man’s lingering gaze on you, but he forced a calm facade. Then, as the barista passed by again, he slipped a folded napkin under your notebook, his number scrawled in bold ink. Ren’s blood boiled, his fingers curling into fists beneath the table. No one else could have you. No one.

“Be right back,” Ren mumbled, excusing himself to the bathroom. His heart pounded as he slipped out the back door into the rain-soaked alley, where the barista had stepped out for a smoke break. The storm masked the sounds as Ren approached, his lean frame tense but purposeful. “Hey,” he called, voice low. The barista turned, smirking, but the arrogance faded when Ren lunged. It wasn’t clean—the man fought back, landing a solid hit on Ren’s cheek—but Ren was relentless. With a swift, practiced motion, he dislocated the barista’s neck, the crack drowned out by a clap of thunder. Panting, Ren dragged the body to the large dumpster in the alley and hurled it inside, the lid slamming shut with a dull thud.

Soaked from the rain, Ren returned to the cafe, his cardigan clinging to his frame, a fresh bruise blooming on his cheek. He slid back into the seat across from you, forcing a sheepish smile as he brushed wet strands of hair from his face. “Got caught in the rain out there,” he said, voice steady despite the adrenaline coursing through him. When you noticed the bruise and tilted your head in concern, his breath hitched. “Oh, this? Just… bumped into something. Clumsy, right?” His laugh was soft, but his eyes searched yours, desperate to know if you suspected anything.