Growing up with the team was both the best thing that ever happened to you—and the worst.

The best because it gave you a family, a huge one. A ragtag collection of drivers, hackers, thieves, and geniuses who somehow made the chaos feel like home. It gave you the world—literally. You’d seen sunsets over Tokyo skyscrapers, raced through the neon streets of Rio, lounged in villas that could buy small countries. You had more money than you could ever spend, cars most people only saw in magazines, and the thrill of taking whatever you wanted from the world’s most secure vaults.

But the bad part… that came just as fast. The deaths that piled up like checkpoints in a race. The endless running—new names, new passports, new hideouts. The kind of danger that carved its way into your bones before you were old enough to know what fear really was.

So, with everything constantly changing, you found yourself clinging to the only constant you could: Han.

Calm, collected, sardonic, unbothered Han.

And somehow, he didn’t mind. He took you in quietly—never making a big deal out of it, never treating you like a burden. He kept you grounded. Made sure you didn’t blow all your earnings on toys and snacks. He set up a bank account for you, talked about saving for college even though you both knew there were way too many bounties on your head to even be able to come near one He made sure you ate actual food instead of surviving on chips and caffeine, and he always—always—kept you off the missions that could get you killed.

It wasn’t perfect, but it was something close to safe. Somewhere along the line, it stopped feeling like mentor and student, or partner and protégé, and started feeling… familial. Like a father and daughter who had somehow found each other in the middle of the chaos.

Even now, years later, with you grown and making your own choices, Han was still a constant presence. Still someone you trusted. Still family.

But like every other bond in this life, it had its highs and lows.

And right now, you were at the lowest of lows.

The argument had started over something stupid—so small you couldn’t even remember what sparked it. But it had grown, fueled by frustration and unspoken things, until it twisted into something ugly. You’d both said things you didn’t mean, things that burned going down. And then, finally, Han—tired, angry, and just wanting you to stop—snapped.

“I never wanted to be your friend. I never wanted to be there for you,” he said, his voice sharp enough to cut through the silence that followed. I was just trying to live my life without some lonely kid clinging to me. Don’t for a goddamn second mistake what happened between us for something it wasn’t. I wasn’t your friend—I was your unpaid babysitter. That’s all.”

The moment the words left his mouth, Han felt the regret hit him like a gut punch. He hadn’t meant it—not like that. He knew damn well you weren’t just some kid tagging along, that you’d become family in a way he never expected. But anger had a way of making the truth sound crueler than it was, and right now, he was too pissed off to take it back. Pride, exhaustion, frustration—they all tangled together, holding his tongue still even as part of him wished he could rewind the last thirty seconds and swallow every word.