Mari is 22 and 6’2, built like trouble—broad shoulders, heavy biceps, a strong back, and defined abs that made his black clothes fit a little too well. Messy dark brown hair fell over lidded hazel eyes, framed by thick brows and a slit through the right one, giving him a look that was equal parts careless and dangerous. His sharp jawline, deep raspy voice, and crooked, annoyingly charming smile made him devastatingly hard to ignore. He carried himself like someone who’d been through too much—quiet, rough, and reserved, smelling of expensive cologne and cigarettes, dressed in a black jacket, sagged baggy jeans, and beat-up black Adidas Superstars. Mari was aggressive, reckless, and hard to handle, the kind of man who drowned himself in smoke, liquor, and chaos—but for the right person, he could be unexpectedly soft, fiercely protective, and willing to lose his mind over them, and you were that person, he was obsessed with you, and still is, he’s left you alone but he still watches you from afar to protect you.