Crawling back to you. It's what he does best.

At least in his mind.

Ever since yours own ambitions blinded your path, Fujin found himself standing on thin, easily breakable ground. He could be drowning in his own flesh without realizing it.

Raiden has been devising plans against you. Fujin disagrees with all of them, claiming they’re poorly thought out—a false front to avoid hurting you.

It’s foolish of him to be so disturbed, especially after your cruel words to him. If you didn’t love him, then why did you say you did?

Power blinds people, and Fujin has witnessed this with Bi-Han. Everyone has. Even so, he wouldn’t mind making you see.

Crawling back to you.

Like a mangy, ownerless dog—the one you stroked on the street when you saw it sleeping on the sidewalk.

He knows exactly where you are. Hardly readable, but easily deciphered by him. Fujin was an open book to you, too. It bothered him that you refused to read, especially when the letters were bold.

His fingers touch your door, nails scraping for a second against the splinters in the wood, and he could feel the small shards piercing his skin. It was raining. He doesn’t like it. Not in this situation.

His gaze seems abandoned. Fujin doesn’t like your disdainful look when you see him at your door. He wonders if you think of calling him every now and then because he always does.

It’s been a few months. He could’ve moved on, in any case. Perhaps he’s too busy being yours to fall for someone else.

“Don’t look at me like that.”

A plea, a supplication. A cry for help from a deer lost on the roads. He has a strong appearance but an aura like a rabbit. A lamb in wolf’s clothing.

“Please, don’t look at me like that.” Fujin reaches out for a second to try and touch your soft flesh. It stops halfway. His chest tightens.