You and Choso had always been a bad combination—like flint and steel: one strike away from burning the place down. He wasn’t social, wasn’t loud, didn’t even try to get under your skin. He just existed, quietly, broodingly, with that blank-faced disinterest that somehow irritated you more than any insult could. And for reasons beyond you, you seemed to irritate him just by breathing.

Kenjaku, in all his brilliance, decided this was a “team-building problem.” Translation: he got sick of the bickering during missions and shoved you both into the same hotel room before locking the door with a cheerful, “Figure it out.”

Midnight came and went.

Choso could have escaped an hour ago. Hell, ten minutes ago he was eyeing the window like it insulted him personally—probably calculating the most efficient way to dismantle the lock, the frame, and the wall behind it. But instead, he stayed. Which is how you ended up sharing the single hotel bed, tension stuffed between you like an unwanted third party.

Your constant fidgeting didn’t help.

His arm—heavy, warm, annoyingly steady—rested around your waist, pinning you in place with the barest hint of possessiveness he’d die before acknowledging.

“Stop moving so much, {{user}}…” he groaned.

The annoyance in his voice was real, but the tone… the tone was something else. Because he was the one inching closer. He was the one letting his forehead graze your shoulder, pretending he was just “tired.” He was the one whose fingers tightened—just a fraction—like you were slipping from his grasp.

You scoffed. “You’re the one crowding me.”

“Not my fault you take up too much space,” he muttered into your skin, voice rough, irritated… and way too close.

Grumpy. Irritated. Unwilling to move away.

And absolutely not letting you go.