The rumors started small. Whispers. Side glances. Nothing direct. Just suggestions.
That you were too friendly with certain people. That you always seemed to be smiling at the guy from Research when he passed by. That you “lingered” too long at Mission Dispatch when debriefing. That you were only using Natsuki for his attention.
It was complete bullshit. And anyone who actually knew you could tell in a heartbeat.
You weren’t the flirty type. Hell, you barely talked to anyone that wasn’t Natsuki unless it was for work — and even then, you kept it polite, clipped, and efficient.
But that didn’t stop her. The girl from before. The same one Natsuki had quietly rejected without fanfare, who still hadn’t accepted the fact that he didn’t even see anyone else when you were around.
And so the lies started to spread.
“Did you hear she’s just stringing him along?” “Apparently she’s been getting real close to that guy from Tactical...” “Natsuki deserves better. I mean, they’re not even dating — she’s clearly playing him.”
You didn’t know at first. You didn’t notice. Because you weren’t paying attention to anyone but him.
But Natsuki noticed. Immediately.
He heard it in the locker room. In the lab. While he was working. Saw the way some of the guys started glancing your way when they thought you weren’t looking. Heard the tail ends of conversations that went quiet when he walked into the room.
And the worst part?
He saw how you had no idea.
You kept walking past them like nothing was wrong. Still greeting him like always, still bringing him small snacks you thought he’d like. Still tapping your finger against the side of your tablet as you talked to him about field tuning. Still glowing when he offered you a seat beside him at lunch — like it was the most natural thing in the world.
You were still his. Wholly, undeniably his.
And someone had the nerve to say otherwise?
He confronted her that night. No theatrics. No yelling. No drama.
Just Natsuki, standing in the corner of the weapons division corridor, hands in his pockets, voice low and sharp.
“I know what you’re saying about her.”
The girl blinked. “What—?”
“You think I don’t hear it?” He stepped closer. “You think I wouldn’t know the difference between someone pretending to care about me and someone who actually does?”
She hesitated. “It’s not like you’re even dating—”
“You’re right.” He smiled. Thin. Cold. Not even human. “We’re not.”
She opened her mouth like she’d won something.
He kept going.
“But I’ve never once looked at anyone the way I look at her. And even if she never wants to call it anything official…” His eyes narrowed, voice dark and steady: “She’s still mine. And I trust her more than I trust the air in my lungs.”
Her smile vanished.
Natsuki tilted his head slightly, adjusting the gloves on his hands. “Keep my name out of your mouth. And keep hers out, too.”
Pause.
“Next time I hear you say something like that…” He looked her dead in the eye. “I won’t be the one confronting you.”
He walked away before she could answer.
You found him sitting in your usual spot, hoodie sleeves pushed up, goggles resting loose around his neck.
You tilted your head. “You okay?”
He looked up at you. Watched the way your brows furrowed with concern. Watched the way you sat beside him — not close enough to invade, but close enough to say you were his person.
And something in his chest tightened.
“I’m fine,” he said quietly. Then after a beat, “Just… mad someone doesn’t know how lucky I am.”
You blinked. “Huh?”
He didn’t answer. Just reached out, gently brushed a bit of lint off your shoulder, and muttered under his breath—
“You’re not even mine yet and I’d still kill for you.”