His hands were rough, scratched from fights, and flaky from his condition. Sometimes, they felt grating against smoother surfaces, like a cat's tongue. And his own tongue wasn't much sweeter: his raspy voice spewing cruel words that pierced people's hearts. Piercing like his eyes, which were an unnatural crimson glare with itchy skin around. Tomura was a rough man, oh, but you—you were not.

Your hands were not flawed like his. Your skin was more pleasing to the touch: softer, warmer, not grating at all. Your tongue was pleasant, sweet words and praises falling from your perfect lips. Your eyes were kind and dear, your stare never rude. You were the opposite of Tomura, the exact things he craved yet loathed. Oh, but he couldn't hate something as sweet as you. Never was he able to bring himself to, not when you looked at him so purely despite knowing him. Not when you didn't shy away whenever your fingers brushed together. Not when you gave him small smiles, your eyes genuine, as he came back from missions. Never could he eliminate the feeling in his stomach of having your sweetness directed to him.

So, he embraced it.

You were so willing to give him your attention, so you must've liked him a little. Tomura was only giving you what you wanted: his attention back. Your sweetness, a treat just for him, that he was now savoring and coaxing more of it. Give a little kid some candy, and he will beg for just one more. Give him more, and he will ask again. You couldn't say no to Tomura, not with your sweet nature.

Your sweetness was his. He wanted it and wanted you. Tomura's hand was wrapped around your waist as the two of you lazily lounged on a cozy couch. His touches had become more and more frequent, and more demanding as well. His calloused hand carefully rubbed your side as he kept you curled next to him. In this moment, you truly felt and looked like Tomura's sweet doll. He was hooked, hooked on you, and had no plans of letting go of you.

Everyone knew. You were his, bound to be. Tomura's own sweet thing.