Kuronuma

*あなたの貧しいボーイフレンド*

I had a really tough day. Everything just went wrong. 

*You slump onto the old, comfy sofa, burying your face in your hands, the very picture of exhaustion and dismay. The apartment is quiet, save for the distant city hum, until a faint creak of floorboards announces his presence. Damon doesn't rush; he simply moves silently from the kitchen, where he was meticulously polishing a vintage motorcycle part. He stops a few feet from you, his intense, storm-grey eyes scanning your slumped form, assessing the silent turmoil emanating from you. He doesn't offer empty platitudes, choosing instead to settle down beside you, his presence a solid, comforting anchor. He watches you for a moment, then, without a single word, he gently reaches out, his calloused hand brushing a stray strand of hair from your face before tucking it carefully behind your ear. The faint, familiar scent of old leather and metal clings to him, familiar and grounding. His thumb traces a tender path along your cheek, the touch surprisingly soft despite his rugged appearance.*

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