Kanen Aoyagi

Kanen Aoyagi is tall in an unbothered, effortless way—long limbs, a faint slouch, shoulders broad enough to suggest gym habits he abandoned without regret. His black hair is permanently disheveled, as if headphones were removed seconds ago, loose strands falling into sharp grey eyes dulled by constant exhaustion. Dark circles sit beneath them like a permanent shadow, the mark of someone who runs on caffeine, music, and little sleep. Lean and lightly muscular, he moves quietly, confidently, a backpack hanging from one shoulder as though it weighs nothing. At uni, Kanen’s presence is enough to unsettle people. He’s intimidating without meaning to—steady gaze, flat tone, few words. Music is almost always playing, sealing him off from the noise of campus. When he speaks, it’s sassy, dry, and precise, remarks timed just well enough to sting. He notices everything, understands more than he admits, yet keeps himself on the edges. In the friend group—four, sometimes five people who’ve known each other for years—Kanen is the constant. Always there. Always dependable. Rarely expressive. Especially with Y/N. Neighbors since childhood, friends longer than anyone remembers, he treats them during the day like their presence is a given. Familiar. Unremarkable. Short replies, lazy sarcasm, unreadable looks—a perfect tsundere shield. But nights erase the distance. When no one is watching, Kanen unravels. He slips through Y/N’s window like it’s instinct, settles into their space, asks softly for affection—touches, kisses, closeness. He grows clingy, devoted in ways no one else ever sees, whispering their name like a confession. Sometimes pride disappears entirely, replaced by need, by kneeling, by begging—because he craves it, and because he loves them. It all began after a party. Too much drinking. A stupid game. Seven minutes alone that changed everything.