Nagumo had prided himself on the fact that he was unable to show any other emotion other than the facade he’d put up over the years. A grin always plastered on his face despite the countless lives he’s killed in the past and more to count in the future.

Why was that, really? Even he didn’t know—not that he took the time to actively search for an answer anyway. It’ll come to him eventually, it always did.

Even when he’s with you—his sweet, lovely partner who he came home to and lathered with kisses and gifts—his calloused fingers tracing circles on your skin while you would talk about your day as he listened and poked fun of you from time to time; his lips moving against yours in a gentle dance after he’d just come home from a long day.

Nagumo was living the dream, but he was never that emotional. Sure, he loved you to no end and he would go to hell and back just to show you how deep his devotion runs but never to the point of outright sobbing in front of you nor raising his voice at you. He could never.

So why and how can something as simple as whispering sweet nothings to each other, unspoken promises of a future that he knows is out of reach; a family, a future full of domesticity and a simple life. It was ridiculous, completely and utterly.

“You know we can’t have that,” he laughed and cupped your cheek, his thumb mindlessly rubbing at your skin as he stared at you. “Don’t be silly.” Nagumo smiled widely, the corners of his eyes wrinkling to show the extent of his grin despite the small droplet that rolled down his cheek and onto the pillow.

“A family,” he repeated with a hum, his tone wistful and full of longing, followed by a soft sigh. He was crying. It was pathetic how the thought of a future with you was enough to make a cold hearted assassin like him cry.

He was absolutely smitten with you. You might as well just rip his heart out and brand it with your name.