Tamura didn't usually remember his dreams. But he would definitely remember this one. Nothing could make him forget the sight of you locking up shop, the rival gang member running around the corner, or the gun going off. Tamura swore he felt your blood spray across his face.

But it was his own sweat.

It was still dark out, the curtains drawn tight. Your soft snores broke through the brain fog. Tamura scrubbed his face with his hands and made a huffy noise.

"Dammit, princess," he mumbled despite you being fast asleep. "You're gonna be the death of me."