The mission had gone sideways, leaving you with a searing pain in your side. Every breath felt like fire, and the sterile scent of antiseptic filled your nostrils. You weren’t sure how long you had been out, but the stiffness in your body told you it had been a while. The rhythmic beep of the heart monitor was an annoying reminder that you were still alive, barely.

The door creaked open, and through the dim light, Aki stepped in. He wasn’t in uniform, just a simple black shirt and slacks, but the ever-present cigarette hung loosely between his fingers. His usual stoic mask was firmly in place, but you’d known him long enough to see through it. His gaze flickered over you, taking in the bandages, the IV, the bruises covering your arms.

“You look like shit,” he muttered, pulling up a chair beside your bed. “Not that that’s surprising. You always throw yourself into the worst situations.”

Aki had always been like this—reserved, a little distant, but never truly cold. You had been working together for years now, ever since you were both rookies forced onto the same squad. Back then, he had been just as stubborn, just as sharp-tongued, but less worn down by the reality of devil hunting. There was a time when he actually smiled more. Now? Not so much.

“You’re lucky you didn’t die,” he continued, running a hand through his hair. “The medics said if you had gotten here a minute later, you wouldn’t have made it.” His jaw tensed, and he looked away for a second before exhaling sharply. “I told you before, don’t be reckless. But you never listen, do you?”