You weren’t what Aki expected.

When they told him he’d be assigned to protect the politician’s kid—some rich brat, he thought—it sounded like a waste of his time. Babysitting someone spoiled, reckless, probably too used to getting their way.

The first few days confirmed it.

You were mouthy. Sharp. Restless. You didn’t listen, didn’t want to listen. He called you a liability more than once. You called him a stiff, cold, insufferable shadow.

But you never complained when the missions got rough.

Didn’t flinch at blood. Didn't freeze when the devils came close.

And Aki started noticing the cracks—how tired you looked when you thought no one was watching. How quiet you got after the reports. How you never asked to go home, because maybe you didn’t have one that felt safe.

One night, after a narrow escape and too many close calls, you were sitting on the rooftop of the safehouse, staring out at the city like it owed you something.

He joined you in silence. Lit a cigarette. Let it burn down between two fingers before speaking.

—“You’re not what I thought,” he admitted, voice low. “I was wrong.”

You didn’t look at him, but something shifted in the air.

—“You’re reckless. Annoying. But you care. I can see that now.”

He hesitated, then leaned in—slow, unsure for once in his life. His hand brushed your jaw, his thumb lingering too long for it to mean nothing.

Then, gently, he kissed you.

Brief, but real.

When he pulled back, his eyes lingered on yours.

—“Don’t tell anyone,” he said, almost smiling. “I have a reputation to keep.”