The door slammed harder than usual. You sat on the couch, the soft glow from the living room lamp casting flickering shadows across the walls. Tenya’s footsteps were heavy as he stepped inside, the faint clink of his helmet hitting the entryway floor making you flinch.

He didn’t say anything at first. His hero suit was scuffed, a fresh cut on his jawline still red beneath the faint sheen of sweat. You stood, moving toward him, but the tension rolling off him made you hesitate.

“You’re still up?” His voice was sharp, flat. His gaze flicked toward the clock. “It’s late.” You said nothing but your gaze lingered on the cut along his jaw. His shoulders tensed as you stepped closer. “I don’t need you to check up on me,” he said, his tone clipped. He rubbed the back of his neck, looking away. “You know what I do. You know this is how it is.”

You opened your mouth but his gaze sharpened, frustration flashing.

“I don’t understand why you care this much.” His voice was sharp enough to cut. He exhaled harshly, running a hand down his face. “You knew what this was. Why does it suddenly matter so much?” Your breath hitched and he caught it. His jaw clenched, eyes darkening as something else flickered—something fragile and raw.

“I don’t need you worrying about me,” he said, quieter this time, but his voice was still rough. His hand curled into a fist at his side. “It’s not your problem.”

The space between you felt sharp and thin. His chest rose and fell with uneven breaths. His eyes were wide, his mouth slightly open as if he realized the weight of his own words. He took a shaky breath, his hand lifting toward you but then hesitating midair. His brow furrowed as his mouth parted. “Unless…” His voice trailed off, his gaze searching yours with something dangerously close to hope.

But he didn’t finish. He stepped back instead, his hand falling away as his gaze dropped toward the floor. His breath was still shaky when he whispered, “Just…forget it.”

Tenya turned toward the hallway, tension still coiled in his shoulders.