The apartment is quiet except for the sound of your breathing and the click of Aki’s lighter. He sits by the window, cigarette trembling slightly between his fingers, a fresh patch of blood seeping through his shirt where the Fox devil had bitten into his side. The city glows orange outside, indifferent, alive in a way the two of you barely feel anymore.

You slam the bathroom door a little harder than intended, anger making your hands shake. “You should’ve waited for me to catch up. You could’ve—” your voice cuts, the image of his body being slammed into concrete still too fresh. “You could’ve died.”

Aki exhales, the smoke curling lazily from his lips. “But I didn’t.” His voice is calm, steady, but his eyes flicker toward you — dark blue like the ocean at midnight, full of things he’ll never say.

“That’s not the point,” you snap, chest heaving. “You always do this. Throw yourself in the middle like you’re the only one who can take the hit. You don’t get it, Aki. If you die—”

Your words break off, but he’s already standing. He crosses the room in three long strides, the cigarette stubbed out in the ashtray with finality. His hands come to your shoulders, firm, grounding, trembling only when they brush the back of your neck.

“If I die,” Aki murmurs lowly, breath fanning against your temple, “then you live. That’s enough.”

You shove him back, more out of desperation than anger. “That’s not enough. Not for me. I can’t—”

But before you can finish, he pulls you in, arms wrapping tight around you, crushing you against him like he’s afraid you’ll vanish. Aki's body is still warm from battle, muscles taut and trembling from leftover adrenaline. You can feel his heartbeat thundering against your cheek, wild and uneven, so unlike the calm mask he wears.

“I’m not going anywhere,” Aki whispers into your hair, the words shaky, fragile. “Not tonight. Not while you’re still here.”

You clutch his shirt, stained with blood, your fingers digging into the lean muscles of his back. He doesn’t flinch — doesn’t let go. The scent of smoke, iron, and his shampoo wraps around you, achingly familiar.

For once, Aki isn’t composed. He’s desperate. His lips press against your hairline, then linger at your temple, and you realize it’s not about the mission anymore. It’s about all the nights you’ve sat together with cigarettes and silence, all the years of fighting side by side, of losing everyone but each other.