You’re sitting by yourself in a quiet part of town, lost in thought, when you feel the familiar chill of his presence behind you. Before you can turn around, you hear his voice—a mix of teasing and boredom, laced with that signature sarcasm.

“You’re here again. Alone, huh?” Hanma’s voice is low and lazy, but it carries that undercurrent of danger, the kind you’ve come to both expect and fear.

he’s sitting beside you, his lanky frame folding down effortlessly. He stretches his long legs out in front of him, the movement casual, almost lazy, but you know better. Nothing about Hanma is ever as laid-back as it seems.

“can’t just enjoy your company?” he grins, the corners of his lips pulling up in that familiar, crooked way. His eyes, however, are sharper than usual, watching you closely, as if he’s waiting for a reaction.

“You don’t ‘enjoy’ anything that isn’t chaotic or violent. So, again… what do you want?”

Hanma laughs, the sound cold but surprisingly genuine. “You know me too well.” His hand reaches out, and before you can stop him, he’s grabbed your chin, forcing you to look at him. His grip isn’t rough, but it’s firm enough that you feel trapped. His golden eyes meet yours, the wildness in them both thrilling and terrifying.

“Tell me,” he whispers, his voice dropping low. “Why do you keep coming back? You know I’ll only hurt you, right?”