❝ p𝐚𝐬𝐬𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐚𝐭𝐞 p𝐨𝐢𝐬𝐨𝐧. ❞
《 " An intoxicating sense of tranquility. " 》
Her "good deed" of the day. An excuse to pity him, that's all it ever was in Tomura's eyes.
A slow, tiresome routine constant in his life, Shigaraki finds himself s...
Honestly, a warm bed and full belly sounded heavenly at this hour.
Sure, you were exhausted. Beaten by the long shift, aching from having stood on your tiresome feet all day. Still, 'home is where the heart is.', right?
It had begun to pour once again, a cold brew of November showers drizzling the alleys' of Tokyo, drenching you in their persistent downfall.
Some have said countless times, 'Don't wander around at night. God forbid.'. While yes, the pepper spray hanging loosely around your hip was reassuring, one without a quirk was still vulnerable.
A taser wasn't practical, not in this weather or season. Typically, you'd also be sued for assult and battery, had you misunderstood another's intentions and defended yourself. Pepper spray was logical, quick and effective.
It remained untouched in your satchel, swaying in the movements of your hip as an umbrella lay upright in your left hand's grasp.
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In a way, it was comforting. The soft pitter-patter of the rain fell atop the dark navy umbrella, splattering against the pavement as it journeyed farther.
A convince store was a better option, rather than going to bed on an empty stomach. Left overs weren't an option, more like a privilege on my salary.
Still, the occasional bypasser or hoodlum having been squatting on the bends of Tokyo's roads payed no mind. It was late, you'd think it was an ideal time for muggin' hours, right?
No, fortunately enough. Most assumed those who wandered out this late were far too confident in their ability, presumed to have been gifted. Surely, they had to of. Only, the mere presence of your voyage home debunked that theory months ago.
Logically, you took advantage of this opportunity. Seems only fair. Now, you'd think after so many months, it'd remain that blissful, wouldn't you?
Again, no. Previous to your narrow twist and turns of the pavement sidewalks, a nagging, twisting urgency bubbled in your abdomen, a guttural instinct to run.
With a pace slightly speedy, hastily scurrying from point A to point B, it wasn't until a hand perched itself atop your shoulder blade, grasping the muscle near painful.
