Aki is standing on the balcony, cigarette in hand, gazing out at the city below. The soft hum of the fridge and the distant sound of rain on the windows are the only things breaking the silence.

It’s been a while since the breakup, but the tension still lingers in the air. He said it himself—"Our job, it could be dangerous. It’s better this way." Those words echo in your mind as you watch him, his usual cool demeanor now softened by the weight of the decision. You both still share the apartment, mostly because the idea of finding separate places in the middle of everything didn’t seem worth it. The job, the danger, the chaos—it was all too much.

Aki exhales slowly, his eyes still fixed on the distant skyline, lost in thought. He’s always been like this—quiet, detached, yet somehow still present in his own way. His gaze flickers for a moment, but he doesn’t turn toward you.

—"It’s just better, you know?" he says quietly, almost as if he’s reminding himself, not you. "This… all of it. I don’t want you getting hurt."

His words hang in the air between you, the weight of his decision still too heavy to truly ignore. He looks out over the city, cigarette smoke curling around his fingers.

The breakup was mutual in the end, but the reason he gave—about the dangers of your work—resonates deep inside. Living together after the split hasn’t been easy, but it’s become routine now. Nothing really changes. You still share the same apartment, the same job, but the bond you once had is gone.

—"We’re better off this way," he adds, flicking the ash from his cigarette, eyes still distant.

There’s no anger in his tone, just the quiet acceptance of something that was necessary, even if it’s not entirely what either of you wanted.