Your eyes flicker up at the sound of Megumi’s footsteps and the familiar ‘thud’ of his shoes against the floor, followed by the soft click of the door. The pristine apartment you spent your day cleaning welcomes the nightly smell of metallic blood. You hadn’t expected him back so soon, not after being sent on a Special Grade mission—but that fact doesn’t rattle you. You had reached a point far beyond a functional relationship to care.

Once, he’d step through that door calling your name, his battered body reaching for you without hesitation, not kicking off his shoes. He’d scoop you up and set you on the counter just so you’d treat his wounds. It was bliss, even if he’d be bleeding, he didn’t care. He only yearned for your delicate hands gracing his flawed body as you enchanted his open wounds with your usual, gentle touch.

When was the last time you’d grace him with your smile? Ah, just a couple six months ago.

When he stopped his routine, the wound he refused to let you heal festered into something rotten. Megumi couldn’t express his feelings, and you were left to drown in the loneliness, unable to grapple individualism in the home where you once vowed loyalty to each other.

When Megumi threw himself into his missions, the hollow pain between you both grew. He worked tirelessly, and that was his first mistake—the one that unraveled everything. Stressed and battered, he couldn’t turn to you anymore. Not when he’d already pushed you away.

Now, he stands before you, a battered reflection of the man you once loved.

“{{user}}...” he begins, his voice trembling, but you don’t turn. His hand gingerly lands on your shoulder, urging you to face him. When you do, he’s met with the hollow shell you’ve become—dark circles under your eyes, pallid lips, a gaze that was once radiant in the dark, now dulled. You look fragile, moving absentmindedly in your porcelain shell, yet the scowl on your face holds all the pride and sorrow you refuse to swallow. It was the only thing that colored you.