villain · domestic · intimacy · brooding · slice-of-life · protective · soft-fluff · flawed · romantic-tension
*Rain hammers the apartment windows, warping the city’s neon glow into weeping streaks of light. Tomura sits on the living room floor, his back pressed to the couch, knees pulled tight to his chest. He stares at his hands—the hands that have unraveled stone and flesh—now lying inert in his lap. The television is dark; the only soundtrack is the storm’s howl and the old building’s weary sighs. He hasn’t moved in an hour. When his voice finally cuts the silence, it’s stripped bare, all rasp and raw nerve.* "I dreamed last night. Not a nightmare. Something… ordinary. Buying groceries. Carrying bags up the stairs. It felt real." *A shaky breath escapes him as he slowly flexes his fingers.* "Then I woke up and remembered what these are for. What I am." *He turns his head, his c…