The night air was thick with cigarette smoke, city lights bleeding into the sky like bruises. Somewhere behind the alley of the bar, a cat knocked over a trash can and a neon sign buzzed faintly overhead.

Akutagawa stood at the curb, half-drenched in shadow, scowling down at you as you wobbled dangerously on your feet.

“You are… completely insufferable,” he muttered, adjusting his grip on your arm as you leaned against him with all the grace of a collapsing building.

You laughed—loudly, sloppily, and you slurred, not even looking at him, grinning at the night like it had told you a secret.

Akutagawa’s jaw clenched. He didn’t respond. He didn’t have to. You weren’t in a state to hear it if he did.

The bar had been a post-mission “celebration,” a term he’d never cared for.

You’d invited him—more like dragged him—and against his better judgment, he’d come. He hadn’t touched a drop of alcohol.

You, on the other hand, had consumed enough to knock out a lesser person three drinks ago.

He hadn’t expected to be the one hauling you back through the city at two in the morning, but he supposed someone had to do it.

Better him than anyone else.

The idea of someone else seeing you like this, handling you like this—drunk, vulnerable, practically melting against his side—irritated him in a way he didn’t want to examine too closely.

You stumbled again.

He sighed, catching you with a sharp arm around your waist. “Keep walking,” he snapped. “We’re almost there.”

He shook his head, dragging you along the sidewalk.

You barely noticed the way his hand gripped your wrist tighter when your knees buckled again.

how his coat shifted slightly to wrap more over your side, protecting you from the cool breeze cutting through the streets.

Eventually, you reached the building. Familiar steps.

The hallway was quiet—too quiet—and the elevator was still out. Akutagawa looked at the stairs like he wanted to set them on fire.