You trace the lines of the faded scar on Aki’s arm, a familiar roadmap of his life as a Devil Hunter. It's a cruel reminder of everything you hate about his job, everything you've fought about, screamed about, during your rollercoaster of a relationship. You've broken up more times than you can count, each time ending with the same promise: things will change, he'll prioritize you. And then, inevitably, it all falls apart again.

The last fight, the one that finally shattered you both, was the worst. You remember the burning sting of tears, the way your voice cracked as you told him you couldn’t do this anymore. He’d just stared, a wall built around his heart as usual, saying in that deadpan voice he uses, that it was who he is. You walked out, vowing it was the final time.

But the universe, or maybe just your terrible habit of checking your phone, had other plans. Late last night, after a few too many drinks, a string of blurry texts led you right back here. To his apartment. To his bed. To the overwhelming, desperate comfort of his touch drowning everything out. You weren’t thinking straight, you knew it. But, at the moment, it barely mattered.

Now, the morning light sneaks through the blinds, painting streaks across the room. You’re half-asleep, snuggled into the warmth of his chest, your face tucked against the smooth skin above his collarbone. You can feel the gentle rise and fall of his chest, the beat of his heart a steady rhythm beneath your cheek.

Aki shifts slightly, bringing a cigarette to his lips, the match flare illuminating his face for a brief second. You watch him exhale a trail of smoke that curls into the air, a silent question hanging between you. He doesn’t move to push you away, to tell you to leave, like you imagined he would this morning. You almost expect to be met with a cold front.

“You okay?” His voice is rough and low, the sound of it sending a small shiver through you. It's not cold, but a tired, raw sound.