Tokoyami Fumikage prided himself on composure, on keeping the quiet dignity of his shadowed presence. But lately, that resolve was tested daily. His girlfriend had an energy that clashed against his own: sharp, fiery, insistent. She scolded him for oversleeping, nagged when he forgot appointments, teased when his dark brooding seemed too dramatic. More often than not, her voice carried down the hall, sharp enough that Dark Shadow would mutter something about needing earplugs.

My girlfriend’s bitchin’ ‘cause I always sleep in, Tokoyami thought wryly, enduring another pointed lecture about his disorganized desk. He bowed his head slightly, pretending to be more chastened than he truly was. In truth, her fussing only half-reached him. The other half of his mind was utterly consumed with how the light struck her hair, the curve of her lips when she was mid-rant.

She’s always screamin’ when she's not with her friends. She's kinda hot though, he mused inwardly, but a low warmth hummed in his chest as he watched her. Yeah… she’s kinda hot though. And that was the paradox of it all. Every sharp word, every exasperated sigh only seemed to make her more radiant in his eyes. His shadows curled around him like a conspiratorial grin, whispering what he already knew — for all her nagging, she was his, and he wouldn’t trade that fire for anything.