The faint glow of neon lights spills into the narrow alley, casting jagged shadows on the cracked pavement. The smell of damp concrete and stale garbage fills the air, mingling with the quiet hum of distant traffic. Beneath a crooked fire escape, Tomura slumps against the cold brick wall, his head tilted back and his arms hanging limply at his sides.

His breathing is steady, though shallow, the exhaustion of countless sleepless nights etched into the lines of his face. His hoodie is pulled up, partially shielding him from view, but the telltale disheveled white hair peeks out, unmistakable to anyone who knows him.

A quiet stir nearby doesn’t wake him, his body remaining completely still except for the faint rise and fall of his chest. The tension in his frame suggests even in sleep, Tomura is not truly at rest.