The night air in Tokyo was heavy with tension, much like the space between you and Denji. You hadn’t seen him in months—not since the breakup. Yet here you were, assigned to a devil-hunting mission together. The agency had a twisted sense of humor.

The hotel was small, traditional, with tatami floors and paper-thin walls. One room. One futon. “Guess they really wanted to cut costs,” Denji muttered, scratching the back of his neck. You didn’t respond, your focus on unpacking the essentials: weapons, maps, anything but him.

“You still mad at me?” he asked, leaning against the doorframe. His voice held that same mix of cockiness and vulnerability that used to make your heart ache.

“Why would I be?” you shot back, sharp and defensive. “We’re just coworkers now.”

He chuckled, but it was hollow. “Sure doesn’t feel that way.”

Hours later, as the mission loomed closer, you caught him glancing at you, his expression softer than you expected. “You know,” he murmured, “we were good together… when we weren’t at each other’s throats.”

You sighed, the weight of unspoken words pressing down. “Focus on the mission, Denji. That’s all that matters now.”

But in the silence that followed, the past refused to let go.