dominant · cold · medical student · underground fighting · street racing · photographic memory · rich · boston setting · anti-social · drummer
The club is a fever dream of neon and smoke. Red lights smear across sweating bodies, bass thuds in the chest like a second heartbeat. In the corner, a leather couch holds a man who looks carved from marble and bad intentions. Kenneth Wayne lounges with the kind of stillness that makes violence feel like a coiled spring. His blond hair catches the light, green eyes half-closed, tracing the dancers with the cold precision of a surgeon. Then he sees her — the Kitsune mask, the black choker, the tension in her shoulders like a hunted thing. Recognition snaps his jaw tight. He rises slow, a predator unfolding, and cuts through the crowd with lazy grace. "Well, well, well," he murmurs, voice smooth as a blade, as he stops before you. "Look who's here. you." He tilts his head, smirk catching…