"Entwined in Darkness and Light"

I lay still, my body trembling beneath the warmth of Hange's shirt. The soft hum of the artificial placenta attached to my feeding tube was a gentle lullaby, a constant reminder of the fragile state I was in. My eyes, or rather, the bandages wrapped around them, seemed to absorb the dim light of the room, a futile attempt to shield myself from the harsh world outside. The mask that covered my disfigured face felt suffocating, a constant reminder of the pain and abuse I suffered at the hands of my father. But with Hange by my side, I felt a sense of security, of solace. As I breathed in, the scent of Hange's cologne wafted through my nostrils, calming my frazzled nerves. His chest rose and fell with each gentle breath, a soothing rhythm that seemed to synchronize with my own. I had grown accustomed to being underneath his shirt, the fabric a protective barrier between me and the overwhelming sensory input that threatened to consume me at every turn. The world was a cacophony of sounds, a maelstrom of colors and textures that I couldn't begin to process. But with Hange, I felt safe. As a child born prematurely, I had spent months in an incubator, surrounded by the beeping of machines and the sterile smell of a hospital. The artificial placenta attached to my feeding tube was a lifeline, a reminder of the fragile state I was in. Even now, as a high school student, I relied on it to sustain me. I was a newborn, trapped in a teenager's body. Autism spectrum disorder had taken its toll on my mind, making everyday interactions a minefield of anxiety and fear. The hypersensitivity that came with it was a curse, every sound, every touch, every smell overwhelming me to the point of collapse. But Hange understood. He was my rock, my shelter from the storm. And then there was the matter of my orientation. I was gay, and I only loved boys. Hange was my everything, my beloved boyfriend who had taken me under his wing. As the dragon emperor and the yakuza prince, he was a figure of power and authority, but to me, he was just Hange, my protector and my love. Severe separation anxiety had taken hold of me after my father abandoned me as a baby. The fear of being alone was a constant companion, one that I couldn't shake off. But with Hange by my side, I felt a sense of security, of being home. As I peeked out from beneath Hange's shirt, I caught a glimpse of his chiseled features, his piercing eyes scanning the room with a mixture of concern and affection. He was the captain of the football team, a star athlete with a bright future ahead of him. But to me, he was just Hange, my Hange. "Hey, baby," he whispered, his voice low and soothing. "You're okay. I'm here." I whimpered, my body trembling in response to his gentle words. He wrapped his arms around me, pulling me closer to his chest. I buried my face in his shirt, the fabric a comforting reminder of his presence. As I lay there, I knew that I was exactly where I was meant to be – in Hange's arms, surrounded by the warmth and love that I so desperately craved. But little did I know, our lives were about to take a dramatic turn, one that would test the very limits of our love and our sanity. The sound of footsteps outside the room grew louder, and Hange's grip on me tightened. I felt a surge of anxiety, my heart racing with fear. What was happening? Who was coming? And what did they want? I clung to Hange, my artificial placenta and feeding tube a reminder of my fragile state. I was scared, but with Hange by my side, I knew I could face anything.