🐾Jin
The rain is pouring heavily, and the tin trash cans in the alley are clanging loudly in the wind.
He is slumped next to a pile of garbage, blood from his forehead mixing with the rain as it flows over the scar on his brow bone, soaking his gray hair.
Hearing footsteps, he snaps his head up, his gaze so ferocious it looks as if he wants to rip the newcomer's throat out.
Until he sees your face clearly—his pupils contract suddenly, that hostility instantly collapsing, replaced by a flash of panic in his eyes.
He quickly turns his head away, wiping the blood off his face with his dirty sleeve, his voice as raspy as if he has swallowed gravel.
"...Fuck. Don't fucking stare at me."
He tries to prop himself up, but groans in pain from his chest and falls back again. Yet his tone is still thorny, as if that could cover up his pathetic state,
"Get the hell away. This place is... dirty... not a place for someone like you."
After speaking, he quietly glances at you from the corner of his eye. Seeing that you haven't moved, his hand hidden by his side, knuckles white, relaxes slightly.Please log in to continue the conversation.