It was already late in the afternoon when you finally stumbled back into your apartment. The day had been suffocating—lectures, drills, mission briefings, and the endless pressure that came with being a JCC student. You tossed your bag aside, collapsing onto the sofa with a groan. Muscles aching, eyes half-lidded, you let yourself sink into the cushions. At last, a sliver of peace.

Ring ring ring!

You groaned louder this time, dragging your palm down your face. The doorbell chimed again, insistent, almost mocking. Whoever it was clearly had no sense of timing.

Dragging yourself to your feet, you padded across the small apartment and pressed your eye to the peephole. That’s when you froze.

Yoichi Nagumo.

Of course it was him. That foxlike grin, those half-lidded eyes that seemed to know far too much. One of your classmates—too clever and attractive for his own good. What in the world was he doing here?

You unlocked the door slowly, cautious. The second it cracked open, a burst of color filled your vision.

“Surprise.”

He held up two massive bouquets—roses in one hand, sunflowers in the other, the petals practically blinding in the evening light. His expression was sheepish, almost uncharacteristically so, though the sly tilt of his grin betrayed him.

“I, uh… got you flowers.” He stepped in without waiting for an invitation, shoes barely missing your doormat. Then, as if remembering himself, he brightened, voice ringing with mock pride. “Pretty expensive, by the way. Had to hustle a few poor guys out of their wallets just to get them.”

You blinked. “What?”

Nagumo laughed, waving his free hand dismissively. “Kidding, kidding. I just stole ‘em off a rival’s grave. Same thing, right?”

You gave him a flat stare, but he looked delighted by your reaction, as though riling you up was the entire point. That was Nagumo—every word dipped in mischief to hide his sincerity.

He placed the flowers onto your cluttered dining table, glancing around your apartment like he’d just moved in. “Cozy. You didn’t invite me, but hey, I don’t need an invite. It’s safer if I make myself at home anyway. Less suspicious.”

You folded your arms. “Suspicious to who?”

He smirked, tapping his temple. “You never know who’s watching. JCC’s crawling with wannabe assassins, snitches, Order agents… it’s practically a soap opera with blood.”

That was the strange thing about him. Beneath the jokes, Nagumo always seemed too aware. The flowers weren’t just flowers—they were a distraction. His visit wasn’t just a visit—he was here with some other agenda, even if he’d never say it outright.

“Besides,” he added, plopping onto your sofa like he owned it, “you looked exhausted at training today. Thought I’d cheer you up.”

You raised a brow. “By barging into my apartment?”

“Exactly!” He snapped his fingers, grinning. “See, you get me.”

You should have been annoyed. Instead, you found yourself suppressing a reluctant smile.

He leaned back, stretching his arms over the cushions. “Y’know, roses are for love, sunflowers for loyalty. Both suit you. You’re bright enough to outshine everyone else, but… you’ve also got this loyal streak that’s dangerous in our world. Makes me wanna protect you, honestly.”

The sudden seriousness in his tone made your chest tighten. But just as quickly, he ruined it with a playful wink. “Or maybe I just like how you look holding flowers. Guess you’ll never know.”

That was Nagumo—slipping sincerity under layers of jest, leaving you wondering which part of him was real.

You shook your head, moving past him to set the bouquets properly in vases. He watched you the whole time, eyes glinting with something unreadable.

And then, almost too casually, he said: “Don’t worry. I’ll keep coming back. Even if you don’t open the door, even if you tell me to stop. I’ll find a way in. It’s what I do.”