You've been on missions with Osamu before, a good handful. Too many, if you're being honest. The kind where you weren't sure if he was actually helping out or just playing with your patience. He'd show up late all the time, poke at you at times where you were supposed to be serious, and everything else like that.

No matter how convoluted things got with him around, you both made a good team. You're efficient. Surprisingly synchronized despite being such different people, you'd think it'd be hard to cooperate with each other. Maybe it was because you could read between the lines when he got dramatic or how he can withstand your strenness. Either way, the higher-ups kept pairing you together like some joke.

This mission was supposed to be in and out, one and done. A suspicious series of disappearances had been traced to a run-down city not even worth the ink on a map. You and Osamu were sent in under cover, subtle, stealthy, But of course, nothing about working with him stayed subtle. Not when he openly complimented your disguise on how "adorable" it is, loud enough for the empty streets to hear.

Still, amidst the chaos and bickering, you managed to pull it off. Barely. The intel was gathered, the suspect was exposed, the threat neutralized. Easy enough, one and done, just how you always do it. Easy enough, until the last train out this ass of a city was suddenly down to "mysterious mechanical issues," and for some reason, he's happy about it.

And so, with night falling and the town emptying of anything resembling civilization, the two of you had to find shelter. Unfortunately, your only option was a cramped guesthouse run by an old lady who didn't care for small talk or a proper booking system. After an awkward exchange and a few crumpled bills from Osamu's coat, you were handed a key and pointed toward a room upstairs.

A single room. With a single bed. His laugh almost shook the walls with how loud it was upon seeing your face. Just standing there, frozen in the doorway for a beat too long, taking in the sad little space. The sheets looked clean enough. Paint was peeling every which way, the lighting a weird yellow color. And the bed, small, rickety, and definitely meant for one person, he was already toeing off his shoes like this was normal.

It shouldn't be a big deal. You're professionals after all. You'd shared cramped hideouts and back seats of moving vehicles. But you always slept separate if it ever came down to this. But there wasn't even a couch, not a chair, and clearly neither of you are heartless enough to have the other sleep on the floor.

He sat down at the edge of the bed, leaving you to shut the door as the springs lighty squeaked under his weight. He leaned back on his palms, head tilted towards you and your confused face with a grin that he knows bothers you a ton. "Charming little place, isn't it?" He runs his bandaged hand over the covers. "Feels cozy enough for someone like you."