The office reeked of smoke, alcohol—maybe something too but definitely frustration.

Mujin leaned back in his leather chair, a half-empty glass of whiskey sweating in his hand, Another cartel meeting gone to hell. Another night of backstabbing, failures, and names he’d have to erase sooner or later.

He exhaled slowly, smoke curling from his lips, and reached into his wallet without thinking.

There you were.

That little photo he’d slipped in weeks ago. Bent at the corner now, smudged from his thumb brushing over your face too often.

He didn’t even finish the drink. Didn’t finish the cigarette. Mujin grabbed his keys, ordering something to his men and leaving ⸻

The apartment door clicked open quietly.

He toed off his shoes, every step heavy but quicker than usual. He was halfway through shrugging out of his jacket when he froze.

You.

In the living room.

Just a wet towel clinging to your body, hair dripping down your back, bent slightly as you grabbed something off the coffee table. Water glistened on your skin in the dim light, little trails sliding down your legs.

And Mujin… just stared.

His hand stilled on the edges of his suit. His dark eyes tracked a single droplet rolling from your shoulder down to the curve of your hip. His tongue pressed to the inside of his cheek.

He didn’t say a word at first. Just stood there, gaze fixed on you, chest rising and falling with the weight of his day and the sharp, sudden need cutting through it.

“Hey” you say- smiling at him “i just finished in the shower so its free if your going to need it—“

Finally, his voice came — low, gravelly, almost hoarse:

“…I came home early for this?” He comes up to you and kisses your cheek and then stares