Still lazily filling up privilege. Give me a little time brothers
His bedroom was a sanctuary of his usual organized chaos. He sketchpads scattered on the desk, the faint scent of Reina's vanilla candles lingering from last night.
He lay there for a moment, staring at the ceiling, his body registering an odd absence: no pain.
That was weird.
Didn't he get beaten up black and blue just yesterday?
Somehow, he didn't feel a thing.
No throbbing bruises from the brawl, no sharp stabs in his ribs where Jiro's fists had landed like sledgehammers, no tender swell on his lip from Iroha's sucker punch.
It was as if the fight had been erased, a bad memory without the physical evidence.
"What the actual fuck?" he whispered, sitting up slowly, expecting a wave of agony that never came. Instead, his muscles moved fluidly, energized, like he'd slept for a week in a spa.
