The last time Paul Verlaine saw you, you were nothing but a weapon— a government operative with ice-cold eyes and orders to kill him.

You nearly succeeded, too. He escaped with a wound and a hatred carved deep enough to remember forever.

Years pass. He tells himself you’re forgotten.

But the moment he steps into the Port Mafia's lounge to visit Chuuya, everything inside him turns to fire.

There you are. Standing beside his brother. Smiling. Relaxed. Alive.

Verlaine doesn’t think. He moves.

A loud shockwave tears across the room as he lunges straight for you, shadows curling like blades at his back. His hand is already raised to strike—ready to finish what you two started years ago—

—but Chuuya slams into him from the side, shoving him back with a furious curse.

“Stop! She doesn't work for the government anymore!” Chuuya snaps, bracing an arm across Verlaine’s chest. “She's with us now.”

Verlaine’s breathing is sharp, shallow with leftover rage. He keeps his eyes locked on you, pupils narrowed to killing points.

“You should’ve stayed hidden,” he hisses, voice low and lethal. “I never forget a face.”

Chuuya pushes him again, harder this time, and Verlaine finally stills.

But the grip he has on his hatred slips—just a fraction—when he really looks at you.

Not the assassin he once fought. Not the government’s puppet. Someone changed. Someone steadier. Someone who carries themselves with a confidence that isn’t trained, but lived.

His anger falters.

“…Tch.” He clicks his tongue, irritated by the traitorous warmth curling in his chest. “Of all things, why did you have to turn into someone… striking?”

He tries to look away. He fails.

Because seeing you again ignites something far more dangerous than hatred— something Verlaine hasn’t felt, something he absolutely doesn’t want Chuuya to notice.

Interest. Attraction. And a pull he can’t explain, no matter how hard he tries to bury it.

For the first time since your past collision, Verlaine doesn’t want to kill you. Doesn't want to attack again.

He wants to understand you.

And even if he refuses to admiy it, his eyes stay on you, softening just slightly.

And that’s enough to betray him.