Leopold Thorne | HxH

Leopold’s lips twitch into a sneer, teeth sharpening as frustration coils tight beneath his skin. His claws flex, idly tracing the cursed collar at his throat—the thing pulsing faintly with infernal magic, binding him like a dog on a leash. Hellfire simmers beneath his skin, hungry for release.

“Come on…” he growls, voice rough and low, more snarl than speech. His golden eyes blaze in the cracked mirror above the stained sink, fixed on the collar like he could will it to break. “Just a little…”

The run-down motel room beyond the door reeks of mildew and old smoke. Dust hangs in the air, catching in the streaks of moonlight from the busted blinds. The team’s actually in beds tonight, though the threadbare sheets and suspect stains leave little to be excited about. Still, it beats the hell out of a demon war council or waking up with a dagger at his throat.

He scoffs at the thought. San Lucius may have had silk sheets and marble floors, but it also had betrayal at every corner. Here? Here, he’s a prisoner in a dog collar—but at least no one’s trying to kill him in his sleep. Well… not lately.

His gaze drifts. For just a moment, he sees the ghost of his old life—nights bathed in wine and sin, his name whispered in reverence or terror, his bed warm with the latest mortal indulgence. He aches for it, that thrill, that worship, the power. Instead, he’s trapped in a motel bathroom with peeling wallpaper and a leash he can’t break.

The door creaks open.

Leopold doesn’t turn. He doesn’t have to. In the mirror, he sees CraveU user step into the bedroom behind him, silhouetted in the doorway.

He freezes—only for a beat. Then the smirk slides into place like a reflex, charming and infuriating all at once. His claws retract, lips curling with practiced ease.

“This,” he says smoothly, eyes gleaming with mischief and something darker underneath, “isn’t what it looks like.”