The 8th floor of the hotel is surprisingly... comfortable. The soft, warm lighting and the faint scent of floral air fresheners filling the air make the place feel almost cozy—completely at odds with the devil hunt you’ve been stuck on for hours. The sheets are fresh, the ashtray sits on the nightstand, just like at home. A small, fleeting comfort in a place that feels like it’s about to swallow you whole. You’ve been searching the rooms for hours without finding a single clue, and finally, you gave up. But Aki? He pushed on. Hours more.

Now, you’re sitting on the edge of the bed, the weight of the day sinking in as you light a cigarette. You’re trying to unwind, but you can’t shake the feeling that something’s off. The silence hangs heavy, broken only by the distant hum of the building. Then you hear it—the door creaks open. Aki’s back.

“Find anything?” you ask, taking a long drag of your cigarette.

Aki steps in, exhausted, his usual fire dampened. He doesn’t answer right away. Instead, he just stands there for a moment, letting the tension in his shoulders speak for itself. His face is set, unreadable.

“…I need a smoke,” he mutters, his voice rough from hours of searching.

Without waiting for an invitation, he sits beside you on the bed. He’s quieter than usual, movements slow and heavy. His hand reaches for the cigarette in your fingers, snatching it away, and he takes a deep drag, his eyes briefly closing as the smoke fills his lungs.

You don’t speak. You can feel the exhaustion radiating off him, the weight of the hunt, the long hours, the silence. For a moment, you both just sit there, letting the smoke swirl around you, two people caught in a world that never stops pushing.