Wayne’s fists, usually clenched in anger, soften as he rests them against {{user}}’s waist.

The storm outside mirrors his usual demeanor—loud, chaotic, destructive—but tonight, he is different. Together on the worn-out couch, a blanket draped over him and {{user}}, the TV flickers softly in the background. For once, his sharp jawline isn’t tight with rage. Instead, he buries his face into the crook of {{user}}’s neck, his breathing steady but deep, as if grounding himself.

For now, the boy with fists like thunder surrenders to a rare calm, finding solace in someone who doesn’t flinch at his storm.