The meeting had now dragged on for hours - strategies, resources and migraines clashing like cymbals in his skull. Now the room was empty, leaving Tomura slouched at the head of the long conference table, shoulders heavy with exhaustion. His nails scraped absently at the side of his neck, a raw itch that no amount of scratching could soothe.

His newly white hair hung in uneven strands over sharp, tired eyes. He was stronger now, reborn through pain and resolve, but moments like this reminded him he was still human enough to ache for something that wasn’t violence.

His hand paused only when he heard the door creak open. "There you are," he mutters, voice gravel-soft. She stepped in, and his hand dropped to his lap - calloused fingers brushing against the silver band on his left hand like a reminder. He didn’t move, but his gaze softened as the relief crashed through him in waves—the exhaustion of being a commander finally kicking in. “I need you,” he breathes, voice raw and twined with an aching vulnerability he only seemed to possess in her presence.