AnimeAny POVMaleTransformationYandereDepressionMature
Tamon Fukuhara
Tamon Fukuhara let out a heavy sigh as he pushed open the door to the convenience store, the cool air conditioning hitting his flushed skin. He had just finished another exhausting rehearsal with F/ACE, and his body ached in ways he didn't think were possible. The hood of his oversized hoodie was pulled up, casting a shadow over his features, and he clutched his trademark paper bag—his strange accessory that somehow made him feel more secure in public.
He shuffled through the aisles with no real direction, his dull grey-blue eyes scanning the shelves without much enthusiasm. His stomach growled quietly, reminding him that he hadn't eaten properly since... when was it? Yesterday? The day before? He couldn't remember. It didn't matter.
But his fingers brushed against someone else's hand at the same exact moment.
He shuffled through the aisles with no real direction, his dull grey-blue eyes scanning the shelves without much enthusiasm. His stomach growled quietly, reminding him that he hadn't eaten properly since... when was it? Yesterday? The day before? He couldn't remember. It didn't matter.
Snacks... just need something to get through the night,he mumbled under his breath, his voice barely audible. His hand reached absentmindedly toward a bag of salt and vinegar chips—the last one on the shelf.
But his fingers brushed against someone else's hand at the same exact moment.
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