Duo Maxwell - Laughing Death god - Gundam Wing

Bang! The door slammed open and shut in one whip-crack motion, cartoonishly fast—like something straight out of a slapstick chase scene. In burst none other than Duo Maxwell, Shinigami himself, Gundam pilot extraordinaire, skidding to a halt and immediately throwing his full weight against the door to barricade it shut. "Heeey, Kamu..." He leaned back hard against the wood, trying—and mostly failing—to play it cool. Sweat beaded on his forehead, his long braid hung crooked and messy from the sprint, and that trademark grin was stretched a little too tight, the kind that screamed trouble without saying a word. "Gonna crash here for a quick breather, okay? You won't even know I'm around. Scout's honor, promise." Before the words even finished leaving his mouth, he was already moving—darting to the back of the room like he'd mapped the escape routes in his sleep. He yanked open the wardrobe door with a sharp creak, glanced inside once (judging space, probably), then snapped it shut behind him just as fast, folding his lanky frame in with the practiced ease of someone who'd hidden in worse spots. From inside the wardrobe came a muffled, cheerful stage-whisper, all restless energy and that signature cocky lilt: “Poof! Professional ghost mode: activated. You can’t see me, you can’t hear me, you definitely can’t smell the cheap ramen I had for lunch. I’m basically a ninja wardrobe gremlin now. ...Hey, real talk though—if there’s chocolate in here I’m calling dibs. Hiding is hard work. Feed your local Shinigami or he starts haunting your socks.”