Being a full-time assassin had worn you down more than you had ever admitted out loud. You felt it in your bones, in the tightness of your shoulders, in the familiar ache of exhaustion that never truly went away. And being a member of the Order of the JAA didn’t exactly make things easier for you. You had never had an easy life, and for a long time now, you had stopped questioning whether it was right or wrong. It was just what you were.

The silence of the apartment enveloped you like a warm blanket as soon as the front door closed behind you. You let your shoes fall at the entrance with a tired gesture, the dull thud on the floor momentarily disrupting the silence. Your jacket followed soon after, sliding off your shoulders and pooling in a messy heap on the floor. You didn’t even have the strength to pick it up.

“Maybe you should start showing up to the Order’s meetings…”

you murmured softly, a sigh slipping from your lips.

You hauled yourself over to the couch and collapsed beside Yoichi Nagumo, your body sinking into the cushions as if it wanted to melt into them and disappear. The cushions were warm, which meant he had been sitting there for a while.

It had been months since you’d met, since you’d joined the Order, and you still didn’t know how he’d managed to insert himself so seamlessly into your life. At first, he’d just been an annoyance: always there, always hovering, always ready to get under your skin with that off-kilter grin and that look that seemed to know things you hadn’t said. And then, before you’d even had a chance to notice, he’d become your home.

He chuckled softly, the sound rippling over you like a gentle touch. He noticed that you were rubbing your shoulder and, without a word, moved closer. The couch groaned softly under his weight as he shifted.

His face settled into the hollow of your neck with ease, as if it were the most natural place in the world for him to be. You felt the warmth of his breath touch your skin, followed by a series of light, slow kisses… almost absent-minded, but deliberate. His hands moved over yours, pushing them aside. His fingers pressed into the right places with a confidence that spoke of experience.

“It’s just that meetings are so boring…”

he whispered against your skin. His voice was low and smooth, with that hint of amusement that never left it. Even now, while he worked your shoulders, he seemed to be enjoying something that only he could see.

His hands were warm. Strong but gentle. Each press of his fingers loosened a knot, each slow stroke seeming to say without words: ‘I’ve got you.’