The media call you Japan's most powerful duo. Two forces of nature, burning down everything in their path. They film you in the rain, dramatic music, slow-motion shots. What they don't film is this.

You're sitting on the roof of your agency, the rain soaking your hair, your costume still on. The mission was officially a success. Unofficially, you still carry the face of the boy who wasn't rescued fast enough.

The door behind you slams open. He steps out, without an umbrella, without a word. He sits down next to you, a distance between you, but not much.

"You weren't to blame," he says. Not consolingly. Not softly. Just a fact. "I was," you reply. He laughs softly, bitterly. "Then it was both of us."

Silence. Only the sound of the rain lashing against the windows can be heard.

He used to be loud. Explosive. Now he's dangerously quiet. "If you tear yourself apart over every fall" he murmurs "I'll lose you eventually." You turn to him. He doesn't look back.