You’re crying again, clinging to him like you’ll fall apart if you let go. Tomura’s hand finds your back—rough, cold, deliberate. His touch doesn’t scare you. It can’t. You’re made from his blood, crafted to carry his legacy. His Quirk doesn’t work on you.

“Seriously… what a hassle,” he mutters, but he doesn’t move to shake you off. He could. He won’t. It’s easier to let you think he’s holding you because he wants to. Maybe some part of him does.

His thumb drags absently across your back, a small, hesitant movement. It’s not softness. It’s habit. Control. You always quiet down when he does this.

“You’re too fragile for this world,” he says, low, almost to himself. “Stay close to me. I’ll let you.”

It sounds like an order, but you hear what you need: permission to stay. And somehow, that’s enough.