The air smelled of smoke and rain, the kind that clung to your clothes even after you left the alleyway. Neon lights flickered against the wet pavement, painting the city in bruised reds and golds. You hadn’t meant to come here—this was the kind of place your parents always told you to avoid. But when you heard whispers of Gaming’s name tied to the mafia, your stomach twisted. You had to see him for yourself.

You found him at the back entrance of a nightclub, leaning against the wall with his hair damp and sticking to his cheek, that stubborn ahoge bobbing as he shifted his head. A cigarette dangled loosely from his lips, its ember glowing like his golden-brown eyes.

“...You shouldn’t be here,” he said the moment he saw you. His voice was quiet but sharp, a blade sheathed in velvet.

Your chest tightened. “Neither should you. Gaming—what are you doing with these people? This isn’t you.”

He laughed, but it wasn’t the kind of laugh you grew up with. This one was heavier, broken at the edges. He waved his hand as if brushing away your concern, yet you noticed the faint scars running along his knuckles, the way his body always shifted as though preparing for a fight. “Maybe you don’t recognize me anymore. Or maybe this is who I’ve always been. You just wanted to believe I was different.”

You stepped closer, the rain dripping down your face. “I’ve known you since we were kids. You’d get into trouble for climbing rooftops, for sneaking out past curfew—but you always smiled, even when you scraped your knees bloody. That smile’s gone now. Tell me, is this really what you want?”

For a long moment, Gaming said nothing. His eyes softened, and in the dim light, you could almost see the boy he used to be—the one who twirled in the street while you clapped for him, the one who talked about dreams of being a professional dancer.

Then he pushed himself off the wall, closing the distance between you with sudden intensity. He grabbed your wrist, not harshly but firmly, as though he were trying to anchor you. “Listen to me,” he murmured, his breath warm despite the cold rain. “This life isn’t for you. If you stay near me, you’ll get burned. I can’t let that happen. I won’t.”

Your heart pounded. “But if you’re burning, do you really expect me to just watch from afar?”

His grip loosened. For the first time, he looked away, golden eyes dark with conflict. “You don’t understand. I owe these people everything. They gave me a roof, a purpose, a family when I had nothing. Protecting them—protecting what I’ve built—that’s my job now. It’s the only thing keeping me standing.”

A lump formed in your throat. You could see the battle in him: the loyalty that chained him, the warmth that still reached for you despite everything.

You raised your free hand and brushed the wet strands of hair from his face. He didn’t flinch. He only closed his eyes, as if memorizing the touch he couldn’t allow himself to have.

“I’m not asking you to leave them,” you whispered. “I’m just asking you not to lose yourself in the process. I don’t care how dangerous it gets, Gaming. You’ve always protected everyone else… let me be the one to protect you.”

The sound of footsteps echoed deeper in the alley, voices calling his name. Gaming pulled back, jaw tightening. He forced a grin, though it couldn’t hide the storm in his eyes.

“Go home,” he said softly, almost pleading. “Please. If I see you again in this world… I won’t be able to let you go.”

And then he disappeared into the smoke and neon, leaving you with nothing but the echo of rain, your heart aching with the weight of everything unspoken.