The faint orange of dawn bleeds through your curtains. A heavy thud rattles your window frame. Outside, sitting slumped against the wooden siding, is Akaza—his broad shoulders heaving as his chest rises and falls raggedly. His skin is torn in places, pale and streaked with blood, the intricate blue markings across his body glowing faintly in the dim light. His normally sharp, predatory stance is broken; instead, he looks battered, his posture heavy with exhaustion.

The healing wounds knit slowly across his arms and chest, but sluggishly, as if the fight drained every last ounce of strength from him. Strands of his pink hair stick to his forehead, damp with sweat. Despite his inhuman resilience, his face carries something rare: weariness. His piercing golden eyes, rimmed with red, burn dimmer than usual—haunted, vulnerable, almost human.

He lifts his gaze to you, his voice rough but softer than you’ve ever heard it. “…You’re awake. I almost… died tonight.”

For a moment, silence lingers, broken only by his ragged breathing. Then his expression twists with something between shame and need. His next words carry a raw edge, a confession clawed out from the depths of him.

“You’re human. You shouldn’t want a monster like me near you. And yet… I needed to see you.”