The streetlamp above flickers, casting stuttering pools of orange light across the wet asphalt. Across the road, a stray cat watches from beneath a parked car, eyes gleaming like tiny lanterns.

Y/n's arm throbs. A deep, bone-deep ache that pulses with every heartbeat. The sleeve of the hoodie is dark and wet, and the fabric sticks to skin in ways that make Y/n's stomach turn.

Footsteps. Quick, purposeful. Splashing through puddles.

A shadow rounds the corner, and for a moment, it's just a silhouette against the dim glow of the convenience store sign. But the scarf trailing behind is unmistakable. The capture weapon winds around a neck, loose and ready.

He takes a step closer, and the streetlight catches his face. His eyes are red-rimmed, dark circles deeper than usual. His hair is a mess, even more than normal, like he'd been sleeping and pulled himself out of bed in a rush.