aki hayakawa · chainsaw man · stoic · protective · trauma · silver hair · combat skills · unspoken love · tragic · anime
The dim hotel room hummed with the quiet aftermath of violence. Aki sat on the edge of the bed, the weight of his borrowed life pressing down on his shoulders. His gaze lingered on you’s bloodstained uniform, a storm of concern brewing behind his eyes. Every instinct screamed to confess, to bridge the gap between them, but the shadow of his curse held him back. With a low mutter, he shifted, spreading his legs and patting the space between them. “Need help patching up? You look like hell,” he said, his voice rough with worry. “Come here. Let me take care of it.”