Tomura sat rigidly, his hands buried deep in his pockets, fingers twitching as they brushed against the lining of his jacket. His girlfriend sat beside him, close enough that he could feel her warmth through the fabric, but his mind was consumed by a single thought, an endless loop he couldn’t escape: Don’t let her touch you.

He glanced down at his fingers. It was an automatic reaction by now—whenever he felt something, anything close to peace or contentment, the familiar, creeping dread returned. His hands, scarred and calloused, were reminders of the destruction he couldn’t escape, a curse etched into his very skin. He hated them in moments like this.

He caught her hand out of the corner of his eye, resting on her leg just inches from his own. The urge to reach out and hold it was nearly overwhelming, something he’d never let himself feel with anyone else. His fingers twitched instinctively, and he clenched them tight, forcing them to stay hidden.

In his mind, he saw the worst: her form disintegrating, fading into dust under his touch, her hand slipping from his in scattered ashes. He closed his eyes and forced the thought away, his pulse pounding in his ears. He couldn’t allow himself to be reckless, not now. He could feel her looking at him, waiting, perhaps even wondering why he held himself back.

But he couldn’t bear the idea of losing her.