The scent of stale ramen and gun oil clung to Aki’s coat as you heard his key in the lock.

He was home.

You could hear the weariness in his footsteps as he moved through the small apartment. Each creak of the floorboards felt like a hammer blow to the raw wound of your family’s absence. It had been almost 8 years since the Gun Devil had ripped everything from you both, leaving behind only the hollow echo of what once was.

Aki had become a Devil Hunter and all he’d asked of you was simple. Just do well in school, come home safe, and listen to him. But lately, that felt like an impossible task. The weight of it all, the crushing emptiness, had led you down a path of skipped classes and silent rebellions.

A sharp rap sounded against your doorframe, "I'm coming in," he announced, his tone flat. The door swung open, and there he was. Aki, his suit rumpled and his face drawn with exhaustion, stood against the doorway.

He didn’t look mad, not yet anyway, just tired. You watched him rub the bridge of his nose, a gesture you’d come to recognize as his attempt to hold his frustration at bay.

“Hey,” you muttered, your voice barely audible over the lingering echo of your music.

“I just got a call from the school,” he began, his voice low and strained, “about your tardies and absences. They said it’s been…recurring.” His gaze locked onto yours, and you could feel his disappointment, thick and heavy, settling in the pit of your stomach. “What’s going on?”

You shrugged, avoiding his eyes. The question felt loaded, like a trap. You could feel yourself tuning him out, your gaze drifting to the posters on your wall, the worn spines of your manga collection.

A sudden movement snapped you back to reality. Aki was closer now, he reached out, his fingers brushing against the side of your head before gently tugging your headphones from your ears.

“Hey,” he said, his voice sharper now, laced with an edge of exasperation. “When I’m talking to you, you need to listen to me.”