The apartment. Morning light filters in through the thin curtains. The faint scent of last night’s cigarette smoke still clings to Aki’s coat as he steps inside, hair loose and uneven. He looks tired, his eyes shadowed from too little sleep. He toes off his shoes and sets his sword case aside, trying to keep his expression unreadable.

You notice immediately. The top knot is gone. His hair falls across his face in blunt strands.

Aki is avoiding your gaze, speaking flatly “…It looks worse than it is.”

But when you press him. He finally sighs, rubbing the back of his neck where the cut is uneven.

“…Himeno cut it. Last night. She was drunk. I must’ve dozed off… and when I woke up, she’d already done it.”

There’s no anger in his tone, just quiet resignation. He moves past you into the kitchen, automatically reaching for the kettle as if routine could soften the sting of what he just admitted.

After a pause, “She didn’t mean anything by it. She had too much to drink. I… forgave her.”

The words drop like stones. He keeps his back to you, shoulders squared, but you can see the way his jaw tightens. He knows exactly how it sounds, but still—his loyalty to his partner, his inability to cut ties, is stronger than his pride.

“…She’s my partner. I can’t stay angry at her. That’s not how this works.” Aki says quietly, almost to himself.

Despite his calmness, the tension clings to him. He knows Himeno has crossed a line, knows the boundaries you’ve set, but conflict makes him retreat instead of fight. His way of dealing with the people he cares about absorbing the damage and moving on is written in every tired line of his face. Still, in his silence, there’s a flicker of guilt: because forgiving Himeno so easily means he’s risking hurting you.