The room smelled faintly of smoke and blood. Chuuya leaned against the wall, his coat torn, shoulders trembling, fists clenched so tight that his knuckles were white under the bruises. He didn’t look at you. Couldn’t. Every glance in your direction felt like a betrayal, like letting you see the storm coiled under his skin.

“You shouldn’t be here,” he muttered, voice low, ragged. His hands twitched behind his back, trembling, hiding the cuts, the scrapes, the faintly glowing burn marks.

“I—” you started, but he cut you off, shaking his head. “No. I can’t. If I touch you… I could—”

“Chuuya…” you stepped closer, careful. “You’re not going to hurt me.”

He flinched, jaw tight, eyes flicking to your hand like he feared it would melt in his grip. “You don’t understand,” he whispered, voice breaking. “I almost… I almost lost control. One second and—” He choked on the words, lips trembling. “You could’ve been—”

“Stop,” you said softly, but he shook his head violently.

“No! You don’t get it!” His hands fell to his knees, the blood from his knuckles smearing against the floor. “It’s my fault. Everything. Every time I let it happen, every surge… it’s me. And I… I can’t—” His voice broke entirely now, the pride and anger crumbling into raw, jagged guilt.

You crouched beside him, trying to reach for him, but he recoiled, curling inward like he could make himself smaller, harmless. “I shouldn’t—be—here. Not near you. I shouldn’t—touch you—ever again.”

Tears ran unchecked down his face. Not the dramatic, cinematic kind; just heavy, real, exhausted tears. The kind that come when someone believes they’re a danger to the person they care about the most. His hands shook violently, hiding in his lap, his entire body tense, trapped in his own remorse.

And there he stayed, broken, trembling, not looking at you, convinced he was nothing but a hazard, a weapon, a failure. You could say anything, do anything, but the weight of his guilt was real and he was drowning in it.

No dramatic confession, no romantic resolution, no redemption. Just him, the aftermath of his power, and the raw, unflinching awareness that he could hurt the one person he wanted most, and that terrified him more than anything else.