The warehouse was dim, abandoned crates stacked high like looming shadows around the edges.

Dust hung in the air, catching the sparse beams of afternoon light that filtered through the broken windows. Footsteps echoed faintly from somewhere beyond, but for the moment, it was quiet. Still.

You stood with your arms crossed, leaning against a steel support beam like you had all the time in the world, gaze cool and unreadable.

Across from you, Atsushi fidgeted with the cuff of his sleeve, clearly trying not to seem as exasperated as he felt.

He’d been trying to keep things civil. Trying to work with you.

But you had made it very clear from the beginning: you weren’t here to play by his rules. His soft-spoken orders, his earnest strategies—they meant very little to someone raised in the shadows of the Port Mafia.

And yet, Dazai—damn him—had thrown the two of you together again.

“…Could you please cooperate with me?”

The words broke the silence like a glass cracking under strain. He looked at you then—really looked.

His brow furrowed slightly, golden eyes wide and tired in equal measure. There was no anger in his voice, no irritation despite the friction that had defined the first half of the mission.

Just a quiet plea.

Atsushi wasn’t the type to demand. Even when you pushed, even when you snorted at his bleeding-heart optimism, he never rose to fight you for control.

He just kept trying to reach across the gap between you, hand outstretched despite the fact that yours remained firmly at your side.

He stood there now, waiting, nerves threaded through his voice but never overtaking it.

You studied him in silence. The desperation wasn’t weakness—it was determination. Frustratingly sincere.

And it gnawed at something deep in your gut, that damn unwillingness of his to give up on people. Even people like you.