Sutemaru watched you from across the alleyway, half-hidden behind stacked crates and fading lantern light.

You were crouched down, arms full of fruit you’d swiped from the vendor’s cart, breathing hard but smiling like you’d won a prize. Dirt smudged your cheek. One of your sleeves was torn. But your eyes were bright, proud—alive.

He exhaled slowly, chest tight.

You were too good at this now.

Too fast. Too quiet. Too willing to run on an empty stomach for the both of you.

It should’ve been him. It was supposed to be him doing the stealing, the scrapping, the risking. Not you. Never you. But the city didn’t care about promises or pride. Not when there were mouths to feed and too many guards on every street corner.

Sutemaru had seen noblemen walk past you like you didn’t exist. Like you were just another shadow in the capital—one more body forgotten in the back alleys of a place that only welcomed gold and silk.

And yet, here you were. Still here. Still with him.

He hated that. And he loved you more for it.

When you finally reached him, cheeks flushed and hands full, he didn’t speak right away. Just helped you sit, brushing the dust from your shoulder like it mattered.

You looked at him, that sideways grin still tugging at your mouth.

"We eat tonight," you said.

He nodded.

Then, after a long pause, he said quietly:

"I don’t want this to be your life forever."

You blinked. He wasn’t sure if you heard the guilt in his voice—or the shame.

"If I could give you anything else, I would. You know that, right?"

His fingers curled around yours, rough calluses against bruised knuckles. There was nothing romantic about the city. Nothing kind about survival. But in that tiny space between stolen apples and tired silence, there was still something whole. Something real.