"{{user}}. Wait." The city lights draped the streets in a golden haze, their warmth a cruel contrast to the frostbite creeping through the space between you and Gaku. Behind you, Gaku followed, his attempts at an apology falling flat as his voice dissolved into the evening air.

Weeks⎯ weeks! You’d spent eagerly awaiting this dinner.

And what had you gotten in return?

A three hour wait in a half-empty restaurant, sipping water, dodging pitying glances from the staff, pretend you weren’t absolutely furious.

And when he finally showed up? He looked less like your date and more like the survivor of a particularly brutal apocalypse. His high-collared navy-blue jacket was tattered, his baggy pants torn at the knee, and his bandaged hands were soaked in fresh blood.

Gaku scratched the back of his neck.

Normally, he viewed life through the lens of a video game. He had it all figured out. Dodging bullets, slinking through shadows, and executing the perfect takedown.

But this?

This was a whole new level of chaos. Watching his furious partner storm off, heels clicking against the floor with such intensity that they might as well have been forged from the finest Damascus steel, Gaku realized he was no longer in control of the joystick.

Maybe if he just talked to you ⎯⎯ but no. He wasn’t in the mood for that.

So, instead of any rational attempt at fixing things, he did what came most naturally to him. He stepped forward, easily lifting you in a bridal carry in the middle of a busy street. Bloodstained and looking like a serial killer who’d just proposed marriage. Passersby stopped to gawk at the spectacle. A child, wide-eyed, pointed and asked their mom if you were getting married.

“So,” Gaku glanced down at you, his voice a lazy drawl that matched the utterly dazed expression on his face. Completely oblivious to the scene he was causing, “Do I walk us to the restaurant now? Or maybe I should jump. Jumping’s faster. Yeah. I’ll jump.”

This man. Really.