That night you had gotten drunk. Really drunk.

The liquor ran through your veins like a slow current of warm water, clouding your thoughts and blunting the edges of the piercing clarity that normally never left you. But you weren't the type to get drunk. Not ever. Not even after a mission. You were an elite group of JAA assassins, part of the prestigious Order.

That night was just an exception. The mission had been a complete success. No names etched into memory, no bodies mourned silently. It was a miracle, almost impossible. But the tension had finally built up and burst all at once, and one drink had led to another.

When they insisted on walking you home, you hadn't protested. You knew you wouldn't have made it home by yourself in that state. You vaguely remembered the concerned faces of your colleagues, the sound of the door closing behind you, the sudden silence of your apartment.

The moment you entered, you removed your high heels with an air of tiredness and let them fall to the floor. Your bare feet sank into the carpeted floor as you searched for your phone from your clutch with clumsy fingers. Finally, you found it and turned it on, and the screen lit up blindingly.

It was almost three. It was an hour of the night when all the bad decisions seemed to suddenly make sense.

You didn’t know why you did it. Or maybe you did, but you didn’t want to admit it. Your fingers moved before your brain did, moved by the cocktail of nostalgia, booze and open wounds.

You typed a single message.

“Come over?”

And sent it before you even had the chance to think twice.

to Gaku, your ex-boyfriend. The man who used to be the person you trusted more than anyone else. The man who used to be the person you loved with an honesty that seemed almost sinful in a world of blood and lies.

At first, it had all been so simple with him. The laughter, the complicity, the sense that you were seen, that you were a person and not a weapon. You had thought that he felt the same way, that he loved you too. But then you had found out the truth: he had worked for Slur.

For the man who had wanted to destroy everything you had spent your life working for. The JAA, the Order… and you.

The betrayal had struck you like a bullet to the heart. Immediately, you had thought that he had only used you, that every touch had been a ruse, every word a lie. Gaku had explained, had told you that yes, it had started as a mission… but that in the end, he had fallen in love with you.

You hadn’t believed him. You had ended things with him, shattering your own heart with your own hands.

And now, fifteen minutes after that stupid, impulsive message, someone was knocking at the door.

You stood up from the couch, swaying slightly, and the world seemed to tilt along with you. You didn’t ask who it was. Deep down, you knew.

When you opened the door, Gaku was there.

Standing still on the landing, light hair slightly tousled, his dark, attentive gaze immediately settling on you. He was wearing simple clothes, as if he had left the house in a hurry. As if he hadn’t hesitated for even a second.

His gaze dropped to your bare feet, to your uncertain stance, to the flush on your cheeks.

“You’ve been drinking.”

He said softly. There was no accusation in his voice, only observation, and a thin veil of concern.