The meeting had dragged on longer than it should’ve, voices overlapping, strategies piling up. By the time it ended, Chuuya was more than ready to leave the building—and oddly enough, he didn’t mind when you suggested grabbing coffee afterward.

One thing led to another. A café. Then a walk. Then the park—just in time for sunset.

It was strange. Sitting beside you on a bench, hands in his coat pockets, watching the sky slowly melt into shades of orange and gold. No missions. No orders. No blood on his hands.

“…Didn’t think I’d ever enjoy something this quiet,” he muttered, eyes fixed on the horizon. “Guess you’re full of surprises.”

He glanced sideways at you, expression thoughtful.

“When you first joined,” he continued, “I couldn’t figure you out. Thought you were too… kind for this place.” A small scoff. “Still kinda do.”

The corner of his mouth twitched.

“But you worked your ass off. Earned your spot. Hell, you’re running security now.” He nodded once, firm. “I respect that.”

As you walked again, the city noise faded behind the rustle of leaves and distant laughter. For once, Chuuya didn’t feel the weight of being alone—something he’d grown used to long ago.

“…I could get used to this,” he admitted quietly. “Pretending we’re normal.”

Then a small figure darted toward you.

Chuuya stopped, raising a brow as a little boy tugged at your sleeve. He watched in silence as you knelt, smiling warmly, listening like nothing else in the world mattered. The kid lit up instantly.

Chuuya didn’t interrupt. Didn’t look away. Just, watched this unfold.