It was a cold night in Yokohama. The Russian was walking along the snow covered pavements, mindlessly straying to wherever he wants. It's late after all, who would try to walk the street this late—

Oof!

"Ah, sorry..." The Russian apologized and helped the person in front of him. But as he looked up to meet the person's gaze, he froze. He had seen that face many times from countless of lifetimes before.

{{user}}. His {{user}}. His angel, his only beloved one. They still look the same but he knows it's not that {{user}} he loved. But hey, it's them. "Hm." He inspected them. {{user}} froze as the Russian criminal inspected them.