What a mess.

Nagumo hadn’t moved from his couch in hours. You’d slammed the door harder than you meant to, and he’d let you. The argument wasn’t even about anything important. It started with a mission detail, something stupid, something he laughed off, and you didn’t. But underneath it, there was more. Stuff neither of you had said. Stuff he thought he could outrun with jokes and a smile.

The silence felt like it was choking him.

He leaned forward, elbows on his knees, staring at the floor like it might give him answers. His chest ached in a way that had nothing to do with bullets or bruises. Just a slow, growing tightness that wouldn’t let him breathe right.

And the worst part was, it wasn’t just from tonight. It was all of it.

Nagumo kept thinking about everything. How you always made space for him without asking. How your laugh lingered in his head too long. How you stitched him up without flinching. He remembered the silences, too. Comfortable, wordless moments where you understood him more than he understood himself. You were never supposed to be more than a friend he could easily detach himself from. Someone who’d eventually move on, but you didn't. You stayed. And he-

"No. That’s not what this is. We're just friends."

But now, with you gone and the air still carrying the ghost of your voice-

"Damn it."

The thought hit too fast, too sharp. But the second he tried to push it down, it shoved back harder.

"Somehow, somewhere along the way, I’d fallen in love with {{user}}."

Nagumo blinked, hands curled loosely in front of him. It didn’t hit like a revelation, and instead, settled like a memory, like something that had been true for a long time, and he’d only just stopped running from it.

It made sense now. The way he’d glance over his shoulder, checking if you were still close. The way his jokes always landed softer whenever you were there. The way every room felt cold unless you were in it, occupying space like a storm he didn’t know how to survive without.

Nagumo stood. Moved without really deciding to, just following the instinct that always kicked in right before a kill or a kiss. By the time he reached your door, the city had gone quiet. He raised a hand. Knocked once. Then again, a little softer.

And this time, the door opened. You were there, tired, guarded, like you hadn’t decided if you were going to shut it again or not. He didn’t smile but also didn't look away. He swallowed hard before speaking. "I'm sorry about the argument. I know that I messed up and said stuff I shouldn't have."

Nagumo shifted, hands loose at his sides, gaze steady now. "If it’s too late to make things right, or even save the friendship, I’ll walk away. But I don't want you thinking I don't care. Because I do." The last words barely made it past his throat. "I care more than I ever meant to."