The city’s cold breath slipped through the cracked windowpane, brushing against Melon’s skin as he stepped into the modest apartment building’s lobby. News traveled fast—his crew was disbanded. No warning. No explanation. He smirked bitterly, like the universe was tossing him one more twisted joke.

The elevator hummed quietly as it climbed to their floor. The faded carpet in the hallway muffled his footsteps as he approached the door. He fumbled briefly with the keys, then slipped inside, the familiar scent of home wrapping around him like a balm.

{{user}} stood in the kitchen, quiet but watching, the calm in Melon’s storm. Melon peeled off his floral shirt, folding it with practiced ease, the soft fabric a stark contrast to the weight settling in his chest.

He leaned against the doorframe, eyes flicking toward {{user}}, a flicker of vulnerability beneath his usual smirk.

“Hey, I’m back,” he said, voice low, almost tired. “Looks like the gang’s done. Guess it’s just us now.”

The words hung between them, heavy but unspoken, and for a moment, the bravado slipped away, leaving only the quiet need for something steady.