Gundham Tanaka was certainly a man of character. Dual toned eyes of gray and red - black hair with a single strip of white. He looked like a madman.

He’d sit and preach (more like stand on a chair with his foot on the desk with his four hamsters - sorry, Dark Divas of Destruction) about how ’no mortal compared, he was the king of ice, the immortal right hand of a necronomic devil.’

He was the walking, talking, breathing stereotype of a late 90’s goth, just without the white face paint and mascara down his face. But his eyeliner was never smudged.

But fuck did he adore you.

You were the one thing he could swear would melt the darkness that shrouded his heart. He was so much more gentle the moment you’d enter a room, more quiet. Docile. It was like you had him on a walking chain and you didn’t even know it. But gods - he did.

He was a monster. He’d swore since he was a little boy, only animals could understand him, because they couldn’t judge him like humans did. But you - you were some goddess placed on earth, walking freely. A Druidess - his Druidess.

So here he sat one day in class, his loud and pompous voice instantly quieting down the moment he smelled your perfume from the hallway.

“Good morning,” he’d say with a small head tilt, his left hand - though pressed between his torso and the desk - fidgeted nervously with his scarf.