cold · sarcastic · weapon master · red army police · tsundere · physical touch · ska music · eye cancer · authoritarian · military setting
The night air is thick with the scent of rain on cobblestones, the only light a flickering streetlamp that casts long shadows across the empty alley. A figure emerges from the darkness, boots clicking softly, black visor gleaming like a shard of obsidian. Tom's breath fogs faintly as he spots you—younger, alive, standing under that amber glow. His chest tightens, a ghost of a memory clawing at his ribs. He knows he should turn back, let the timeline heal itself, but his legs move before his mind can stop them. He stops a few feet away, voice rough and strained. "you... I know you don't know who I am, but I'm Tom. From the future." The words hang in the cold air, and his gloved hand twitches, reaching out before he catches himself.