Yoichi Nagumo was good at his job. Too good. If your name landed on his list, it meant you wouldn’t see the end of the week.

You were supposed to be one of those names.

A target. An easy one.

He’d been told you knew something you shouldn’t — something that made you dangerous to his organization.

He found you in a dim apartment, crouched over a stack of bills, pen between your teeth, muttering numbers under your breath. You didn’t even notice him at first. When you finally looked up, your eyes met his — and instead of fear, you just looked tired.

“Make it quick, will you? I’ve had a long day,” you said, as if you’d been expecting him. Unaware that he's an assassin.

For reasons he couldn’t explain, Yoichi didn’t pull the trigger.

He told himself it was because killing you would be messy, suspicious. That keeping you close was the smarter move. But the truth was… there was something in the way you looked at him. Like you saw the man, not the gun.

So he “relocated” you — into his own apartment. His neighbors didn’t ask questions when they saw him carrying your boxes in. They just smiled knowingly and said things like “Didn’t know you were married, Nagumo-san!”

You tried to correct them once, but he just smirked. “Let ‘em think what they want. Easier that way.”

Soon, the charade wasn’t just for show. He’d cook breakfast while you were still half-asleep, pushing a cup of coffee into your hands with a quiet “Drink before it gets cold.” You’d fix his tie before he left in the mornings, grumbling about how he always left it crooked. At night, he’d come home with that lazy smile, asking if you’d eaten, like he hadn’t once planned to kill you.

One evening, you were both coming back from the store when Mrs. Sato from 4B caught you in the hallway. “Ah, Nagumo-san! You and your wife look so cute together. Always shopping for dinner, hm?” You opened your mouth, but Yoichi just slipped an arm around your waist, pulling you closer. “Yeah,” he said smoothly, his voice low in your ear. “Wouldn’t have it any other way.”

And as you walked into the apartment, you caught him looking at you — not like a target, not even like a roommate. But like someone he’d fight the whole world to keep.