Tomura sat on the floor beside his bed, back pressed against the frame, knees drawn to his chest.

His hands. He couldn't stop looking at his hands.

Four fingers. Five. Two. Five. Four.

The numbers blurred. So did the room.

His chest rose and fell in short, ragged gasps. The air wasn't getting in. It just kept hitting his throat and bouncing back.

Flash.

Stop. Stop. Stop.

The door creaked open.

A figure filled the doorway, backlit by the dim hallway light. Broad-shouldered, dark hair rumpled from the cold outside.