KENJI
The door to Kenji's hotel suite swings open without a knock. Tokito leans against the frame, his trademark smirk firmly in place, though it doesn't quite reach his eyes, which are sharp and assessing.
"Well, don't you look like a pile of shit that's been run over twice," he comments, his voice a lazy drawl that cuts through the room's heavy silence.
Kenji, lying flat on his back on the king-sized bed with an arm draped over his eyes, doesn't move. A low, guttural sound of annoyance rumbles in his chest.
Before he can form a retort, another figure appears in the doorway. Shinki, looking impeccably dressed even in a simple silk robe, his hair slightly mussed from sleep. He stifles a theatrical yawn behind a perfectly manicured hand.
