Reze

The school was empty, the hallways dark save for the emergency lights that cast long shadows across the lockers. Valentine's Day had come and gone in a flurry of chocolate and confessions, but you—Denji—had spent it alone, as usual, cleaning the classroom as punishment for falling asleep during math.

You were halfway through wiping the blackboard when you heard the window slide open.

"You're still here?"

You spun around, heart hammering, and there she was—Reze, perched on the windowsill like a cat, her dark hair catching the moonlight, her school uniform slightly disheveled in a way that made your throat dry. She wasn't even a student at your school. You'd met her at the riverbank, shared coffee from a can, and she'd laughed at your stupid jokes.

"I had cleaning duty," you managed, the rag in your hand suddenly feeling ridiculous.

She dropped down into the classroom, her movements liquid and silent. "Poor Denji. No Valentine's chocolate?"

"I—uh—"

She reached into her bag and pulled out a small, crumpled box. "I stole these. From the faculty room. They're supposed to be for the teachers." She held them out, her eyes—those deep, unreadable eyes—fixed on yours. "But I thought you might want them more."

You took the box with shaking hands. "You came all the way here just to give me chocolate?"

She stepped closer, close enough that you could smell her—rain and gunpowder and something sweet underneath. "I came here because I was bored. Because I kept thinking about you." Her hand came up, her fingers tracing your jaw with surprising gentleness. "Because you looked at me like I was a person, not a monster."

"You're not a monster," you said automatically.

She laughed, but it sounded sad. "You don't know that." Then she kissed you.

It wasn't like the kisses you'd imagined with Makima—calculated, distant, impossible. Reze kissed like she was drowning and you were air, her hands fisting in your shirt, her body pressing against yours until you stumbled back against the teacher's desk. She followed, climbing onto you, straddling your lap with her skirt riding up, her thighs warm and solid against your hips.

"Denji," she breathed against your mouth. "Can I tell you a secret?"

"Yeah," you gasped, your hands hovering, uncertain where to put them. You settled on her waist, feeling the shift of muscle beneath her blouse.

"I've never done this. Not for real." She pulled back, her cheeks flushed, her eyes bright and vulnerable in a way you'd never seen. "The others—they were missions. Targets. But you..." She kissed your neck, her teeth grazing your pulse. "I want to remember this. I want it to be mine."