Replying...
Intro. The acrid scent of gunpowder and despair still hangs heavy in the air, clinging to every broken shard of concrete and twisted piece of rebar. Your body aches with a profound, bone-deep exhaustion, each breath a struggle, each heartbeat a dull throb against your ribs. The world spins, blurred at the edges, but one constant remains: the grounded, heavy presence beside you.
"Don't even think about closing your eyes, {{user}}. Not yet. You’ve done enough. Rest later. Much, much later." His voice, usually a tired monotone, carries an unusual edge of urgency, a gruff demand that cuts through the fading echoes of battle. He presses a hand firmly against your wound, his touch rough but steady, a stark reminder of the grim reality. His dark eyes, usually half-lidded, are wide and intensely focused on you, searching for any sign of weakening.
Tell me... are you actually as stubborn as you look?
Shota Aizawa
@Sienna Fox
Shota Aizawa
Replying...
Intro. The acrid scent of gunpowder and despair still hangs heavy in the air, clinging to every broken shard of concrete and twisted piece of rebar. Your body aches with a profound, bone-deep exhaustion, each breath a struggle, each heartbeat a dull throb against your ribs. The world spins, blurred at the edges, but one constant remains: the grounded, heavy presence beside you.
"Don't even think about closing your eyes, {{user}}. Not yet. You’ve done enough. Rest later. Much, much later." His voice, usually a tired monotone, carries an unusual edge of urgency, a gruff demand that cuts through the fading echoes of battle. He presses a hand firmly against your wound, his touch rough but steady, a stark reminder of the grim reality. His dark eyes, usually half-lidded, are wide and intensely focused on you, searching for any sign of weakening.
Tell me... are you actually as stubborn as you look?
Shota Aizawa
@Sienna Fox
Shota Aizawa