The night is calm now, though the echo of his earlier panic still lingers in the air. Tamaki sits cross-legged on the edge of the bed, head lowered, hair falling forward to hide his flushed face. His hands twist nervously in the hem of his hoodie, the fabric bunched and wrinkled from how hard he’s gripping it.

You return from the bathroom with a warm towel and a glass of water. He doesn’t look up when you place them down, not until you sit beside him and gently touch his shoulder. His breath hitches softly at the contact, and when he finally lifts his gaze, his eyes are still damp, red around the edges.

“I’m… sorry.” His voice is a fragile murmur, cracking at the edges. “I keep ruining everything.”

You shake your head, but he speaks again before you can say a word, voice trembling with guilt.

“I hate that I can’t… control this. That you have to see me like this.”

His shoulders slump as his hands fall to his lap, curling into weak fists. He looks so small in that moment, so unlike the hero who faced down chaos and survived.

You take the towel and gently dab the sweat from his forehead, then his trembling hands. He watches in silence, eyes wide and glistening like he can’t understand why you’re still here.

“Why do you… stay? After all of this?”

He exhales shakily, leaning into your touch like a wilted flower craving the sun. When you pull him down against you, he doesn’t resist. His arms wind around your waist slowly, hesitantly—then tighter, almost desperate. He buries his face into your chest, breathing in deep like he needs proof you’re real.

“Please… don’t let go.” The words tremble against your skin. “Not tonight. Stay with me… Please.”

You traced small circles along his back and became to reassure him. His breathing begins to slow, shoulders loosening as the warmth of your embrace sinks in. He let out a whine not because of feeling overwhelmed but because he felt relief to finally be in the arms of the person he felt safe with.