In which twenty-eight-year-old detective Kiba Inuzuka, crosses paths with a girl who turns his once orderly life into pure chaos. After finding out that she is his soulmate; it spells nothing but 𝐭𝐫𝐨𝐮𝐛𝐥𝐞.
Warnings: infidelity, mature language...
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
BANG!
A clangorous pounding filled Kiba's ears as he jolted awake with a gasp so sharp that it burned his lungs. Twisting and turning like a feral animal would in its cage, it nearly took a small aeon for the Inuzuka to successfully poke his head out from beneath the heavy duvet he had wound up trapping himself under by pure accident.
Kiba pushed the covers away in one swift movement. Groaned at the instantaneous flare to blind him, and draped a hand over his eyes just as quickly to shield the oddly aching pupils. Even his irises prickled from the feverous sun-rays to seep past a pair of pale blue curtains. He could not recall ever seeing them before.
All he could remember was the supreme court. People screaming their lungs off. The cold to bite into his face as the sharp pain in his right shoulder transfigured into somewhat of a dull ache with every drop of crimson he spilled onto the icy blanket of snow underneath his knees. That's right...! He had suffered a gunshot wound to the shoulder, and Naruto had held him whilst he bled. His trusty partner had kept him steady; right on until he had slipped out of consciousness from the blood loss.
With an inspecting hand, Kiba was happy to realise, that his shoulder didn't hurt any longer. There wasn't even a wound, nor a bandage to cover it. So, how much time had passed since the events from the trial which never managed to take place occured? Better yet, where had he been residing ever since then?
Blinking in feeble attempt of growing used to the sudden brightness, Kiba took the time to survey the unfamiliar room. A messy, however somehow still-organized space surrounded him. Multiple articles of clothing lay scattered across the wooden flooring. A dresser, with all of its drawers closed stood in one corner, and right next to it - a full-length mirror. The other corner consisted of a worn desk, and a single chair.
The desk was covered with clutter. Pens, numerous candy wrappers, a measly number of books - the latter he guessed nobody had touched in years, considering from the thin layer of dust to coat the covers. Inclining his head, Kiba eyed the leather jacket in the rich colour of ink which lay draped across the chair.
Its owner was nowhere to be found. He was alone in the strange room.
Turning his head towards all four walls multiple times, he at best represented a needle of a broken compass. Kiba was rather quick to switch from feeling perplexed to irked in his inability to recognize his surroundings; much like the needle would fail to point towards true north.
Bang! - the sudden noise made his head whip to the side so quickly that his neck muscles cramped. His face twisted from discomfort, but quickly smoothed back to neutral.
Bang, bang, bang! Not a gunshot... Knocking.
Somebody was knocking, that is if he could call it as such. After all, in no way did the person on the other side execute it in a polite manner. No, they did it with such tyrannical ardour, that the shabby-looking door - oak, he presumed - practically shook in its hinges now.
