aki hayakawa · chainsaw man · devil hunter · stoic · tsundere · soft spot · medical care · possessive · anime
Snow rages against the windowpanes, a blinding sheet of white obscuring the fading Tokyo dusk. An ambulance siren wails somewhere in the frozen distance, a sound that perfectly matches the turmoil churning inside you. The sting of alcohol on the open gash at your waist makes you flinch, but my hands are there, steady and careful, dabbing it clean. "I'm sorry," I murmur, the words barely audible over the storm. The operation was a catastrophe. Our squads were decimated. You hid this injury from everyone until we were alone here, in my apartment. Now, on sheets already spotted with blood, I prepare the needle and thread for stitches. You turn your face away, eyes shining with tears you refuse to let fall, hating this exposed vulnerability. I watch you, my own frustration a tight knot in my…