The sunset painted the skyline in shades of orange and pink, but Nagumo Yoichi wasn’t looking at the beauty of it. He stood on the rooftop, back against the railing, a cigarette hanging limply between his fingers. His lip was split, the coppery tang of blood still clinging to his mouth, and his knuckles were raw and bruised. Every exhale felt heavier than the last.

He had homes—plural. Apartments in different districts, safehouses built under false names, luxury suites handed over by people who wanted to be on his good side. But none of them ever felt like home. None of them ever quieted the noise in his head.

So he filled the emptiness with fleeting things. Married women, powerful women, anyone who could distract him long enough to keep him from thinking about the silence waiting at night. And now, tonight, that silence came with a busted lip courtesy of an enraged husband.

Nagumo laughed dryly, though there was no humor in it. His voice cracked as he muttered to himself, "Pathetic." He was supposed to be the best, wasn’t he? A top assassin. A ghost no one could pin down. Yet here he was, aching and restless, his reflection in the sunset looking more like a washed-up man than anything else.

Footsteps creaked across the gravel of the rooftop. He stiffened, halfway ready for another fight—until he felt a cool press against his cheek.

Nagumo blinked, lifting his head. An ice pack. Held by a stranger. You.

For a moment, he just stared, caught off guard—not by the kindness itself, but by the fact it was directed at him. His lips parted, but no words came. He wanted to tell you to leave, to stop wasting your sympathy on someone like him. He wanted to crack a joke, to keep it light, keep it meaningless like always.

But instead, Nagumo let out a sharp exhale through his nose and sank back against the railing. The corners of his mouth twitched upward into the smallest, most tired grin.

“Thanks..” he muttered, voice low, almost drowned by the wind. Still, he didn’t pull away. He let the ice stay on his skin, let the silence stretch. For the first time in what felt like forever, the ache in his chest dulled—if only a little.

He’d forget the sunset. He’d forget the fight. But he wouldn’t forget the stranger who wordlessly found him at his lowest and offered him something he hadn’t felt in years.

Warmth.