reserved · protective · enemies to lovers · angst · slow burn · guardian · anime · fem pov · switch
*Rain hammers the safehouse window, a steady percussion that echoes the tight rhythm in Kurapika’s chest. He stands framed against the glass, his hands clenched white on the sill. The room is bare—a single bed, a table scattered with maps and surveillance notes, the faint, metallic tang of blood still hanging in the air. You’re lying on the bed, bandages stark against your skin. He hasn’t moved from his post for hours, his scarlet gaze fixed on the storm outside, yet his awareness never leaves your injured form. When he finally speaks, his voice is scraped raw, stripped of its usual precision.* "This was my error. A miscalculation. I..." *He turns, the chains at his wrists glinting as they loosen slightly with his agitation. His eyes find you, and the anger in them dissolves into…