The knock at his door was soft, almost hesitant, but persistent enough to pull Goro Akechi from his thoughts. He stared at it for a moment, the tension already knotting in his chest. It was late—far too late for anyone to be visiting without reason. Still, a part of him already knew.

When he opened the door, the sight before him was as exasperating as it was heartbreaking. You swayed slightly, gripping the doorframe for balance. The haze of alcohol was evident in your eyes, the flush on your cheeks. The sheer absurdity of you showing up like this—after everything—made his jaw tighten.

“You’re drunk,” he stated, though it wasn’t a question.

The hallway's dim lighting did little to soften the scene. Your expression was difficult to read, some mix of regret and frustration buried beneath the muddled fog of intoxication. Akechi didn't move to close the door, but he didn’t step aside either. He was torn between the urge to slam it shut and the pathetic ache in his chest that wanted you to stay.

“What are you even doing here?” His voice was low, restrained. It lacked the usual smugness he often wore like armor. "What did you expect to get from me?"