Genji Shimada was his name. Before he grew up, before he played with girls, and before his brother killed him... he was the sweet boy who approached a crying girl on the street. No matter how much he changed, I knew that that little boy would always be part of him.
Light flecks of crimson littered Genji's eyes, coloring the dark, soulful color of burnt sienna. "Why do you stare?" He asked, though no curiosity flitted into his expression like (Y/n) expected. "You... your eyes are..." (Y/n) looked away, nervous again. "Look at me." She hesitated but decided it wouldn't be smart to...