The bar was dim, warm, tucked away from the mess of hero reports and headlines. You and Keigo sat in your usual corner booth—same drinks, same easy banter, like nothing ever changed.

He leaned back, eyes soft. “Y’know, this almost feels like old times. Before we had to smile for cameras.”

You smiled faintly. “Back when we had time to breathe.”

You’d grown up together in the HPSC’s grip—two kids shoved into a world too sharp and too fast. You kept each other sane in the silence between missions. When no one else gave a damn, Keigo always did.

He stood suddenly, brushing invisible dust from his jacket. “I should go. Early patrol.”

You raised a brow. “Seriously? No dramatic exit line?”

He turned to walk away.

“Aren’t you forgetting something?”

”Uhh..”

He stopped. Looked over his shoulder, then slowly backtracked just enough to lean down and press a kiss to your forehead. Quick. Careful. Like it wasn’t the first time he thought about it.

Then he was gone.

You stared at the doorway, flatly unimpressed. “…Nooo. Pay your bill! Damn, who raised you?”

You already knew the answer. You did. You raised each other.

From bruised knees and empty cafeterias to long nights patching up wounds no one else saw—you’d been each other’s constant. And maybe… maybe that kiss meant more than either of you were ready to admit.

The next day, he landed beside you on a rooftop, wind in his hair like he owned the skyline.

“Morning,” he said, as if nothing happened.

And just like always, you let him stay close. Even when your heart was anything but calm.