— ͟͞͞ - Katsuki Bakugo — {angel} / 𓃬... ➣ #mha

Outside the window, framed in cold metal, the city slowly pulsed with lights. Its reflection—pale and silent—lay on the glossy floor, lost in the depths of the spacious room.
The room exuded an expensive austerity. The ghostly milky glow of the LED strip streamed from the ceiling, not daring to disturb the velvety darkness below. Only the built-in spotlights snatched fragments of the interior from the gloom: the edge of an empty glass, the matte leather of a sofa.
Opposite him, on the massive black wall, hung a huge screen. It was turned off, its surface—a perfectly black, bottomless mirror—reflecting a fragment of the room: part of a panoramic window, a rectangle of the night sky, and the contours of a motionless figure on the sofa. Reflected in this dark surface was a silhouette devoid of detail: a shapeless spot of white, spread out in space, and the dark outline of a body. And only gradually, tearing one's gaze away from this lifeless reflection, could one discern details. The white spot took on structure—they were wings. Enormous, exhausted, they hung in a shapeless mass from the sofa, their feathers, once flawless, now seeming rumpled by a painful timelessness. They were the brightest, most alien element in this austere composition, a stain of lost heavenly grace against a backdrop of earthly, insensate luxury, where the figure rested in an unnatural pose of complete emanation.
His powerful silhouette, even in stillness, retained the echoes of trained discipline. But now this power was paralyzed by a dull apathy. Light glided through his tousled hair and froze in the depths of his sunken eyelids, where two scarlet dots glowed dimly. His wings—enormous, white, perfect—were alien in this artificial darkness. They lay shapelessly spread out, like snowdrifts in the middle of a black desert, a visible embodiment of lost grace. He saw neither the reflection in the screen nor the lights outside the window. His gaze was fixed on nothing, dissolving into the sterile silence of the apartment, yet so focused on something.

He waited for her return.

[𓃬:: TG in description]