The night air lingers even after he’s closed the window, cold slipping in through that thin crack before the latch catches. Aki can tell it’s going to snow soon, fingers still chilled from outside, but the thought doesn’t settle in his head right now. Snow isn’t what matters.

You’ve just returned. Another mission, another call in the middle of the night. It’s supposed to be routine by now—meet the team, sweep the area, clean up what’s left. Except this time there was an oversight, and oversights cost people. He’s lost people before, seen them go down right in front of him. Some days, it barely leaves a mark anymore. But today feels different.

Worse. Because it wasn’t just anyone who got hurt—it was you.

He sits next to you on the bed, sleeves rolled up past his elbows, a first-aid kit spread open between you. Aki takes the cotton pad, pours a thin stream of alcohol over it, and presses it gently against the cut on your arm. “…Sorry,” he murmurs, jaw tightening.

He should’ve been closer. He always has been. It started out as habit, the way you watch your partner’s back on the field. Somewhere along the way, it became more than that. Coming back to the same apartment and sleeping in the same bed. You’ve never talked about what you are, never needed to. The others already know. He’s yours, you’re his. That’s just the way it is. And still, it doesn’t feel like enough.

He winds the bandage around your bicep until it sits snug but not tight. He breathes in and out slow before speaking, “Missions are getting shittier than before.” Then he forces himself to meet your gaze. “I’ve been thinking… maybe we should take a break.”

The words sound strange, like they don’t belong to people like you. But that's what Aki wants, before his time runs out.