The abandoned warehouse was filled with the smell of dust, rusted iron, and the impending storm outside. The dim lighting provided by the neon lamps cast flickering shadows on the walls, but your eyes were fixed intently on him: Haiba.

He was sitting on the broken couch, his arms draped casually on the backrest of the couch.

Shizuka stormed out of the room, slamming the metal door shut after unleashing a blind fury on him. His reason for doing so was simple, at least for Shizuka’s part: the betrayal of their agreement. Kidnapping Nei for ransom was one thing, but selling her on the black market after receiving the ransom money was something he was not willing to do.

But you, however, remained.

In the silence after the shouting, in the smoke of a forgotten cigarette, in the smell of blood. You came up to him with a basin of water and some disinfectant. As you sat on the edge of the couch, the spring creaked under your weight. Your legs were so close they almost touched.

“You should stop provoking Shizuka,”

you said, wetting the cotton ball.

Haiba threw his head back and began to laugh. It was a hoarse laugh, one that was flavored with the taste of blood trickling from his split lip.

“But you know, I enjoy it.”

The moment the liquid touched the open wound on his cheekbone, Haiba winced slightly, but the misshapen grin didn’t leave his face.

“You can be such a cynical bastard sometimes”.

you said, pressing the cotton ball against his wound a little harder than you needed to.

He let out a small mocking groan, reaching out to grab your wrist. His grip was warm, firm, yet somehow not aggressive. He made you stop, forcing you to meet his gaze.

“And yet you’re still here, patching me up.”

He whispered it, closing the distance between the two of you.

Despite the cuts, the bruises already turning purple, and the mess he had just created, Haiba still had that irritating air about him —as if the whole world was one big game he was the only one who understood.