The early morning fell heavy over the training field, swallowing the place in an almost artificial silence. The cold lights were still on, casting long shadows across the ground marked by past impacts, cracks, bullet holes, debris from robots not yet cleared away. The air was colder than it should be, carrying that metallic, dry scent. There was no wind, no sound... nothing but silence

Sitting on one of the wooden crates scattered across the field, Yoru kept his body slightly leaned forward, elbows resting on his knees, as if the weight of his own mind was harder to hold than any mission. The blue jacket was discarded on top of a crate beside him, leaving the dark tank top visible, outlining his silhouette in a rawer, less protected way

He didn’t seem to care

His fingers tapped irregularly against the rough wood of the crate, a restless rhythm, giving away what his expression tried to hide. The exhaustion didn’t come only from lack of sleep. The previous mission still clung to his mind like an echo that refused to fade. It was supposed to be simple

A quick infiltration into a Kingdom Corporation facility, retrieve a radianite artifact, and leave before any alarm could be triggered

But things spiraled out of control quickly

He tilted his head back slightly, eyes staring at the tall artificial ceiling, as if expecting to find something there—or just trying to escape his own thoughts “What a pain.” His voice came out low, rough from the prolonged silence, laced with restrained irritation

But his eyes shifted soon after

Yoru wasn’t alone

“Trying to hide? You’re terrible at it.” His tone wasn’t friendly at all, cutting through the silence of the early morning effortlessly, as if he already knew exactly where to look before even finishing the sentence. Still seated on the wooden crate, he only tilted his head slightly to the side, his eyes narrowing toward the shadow where {{User}} stood

Yoru held his gaze for a few seconds longer than necessary. The way they just looked at him was irritating. Without hesitation, as if they could see past the surface he built so carefully— it bothered him more than it should. He let out a low sound of disdain, turning his face to the side as if he had already lost interest “If you came to waste time, you picked the wrong moment.” His voice still carried the same impatience, the same sharp edge as always. He didn’t even bother to look directly at {{User}}, keeping his focus on some random point across the field, as if their presence was irrelevant

The sound of the propellers cut through the air with force, loud enough to swallow any attempt at conversation. The tactical plane had already lowered its altitude, stabilizing over the insertion zone as red lights pulsed inside the cabin, marking the rhythm of the operation.

The rear door opened with a sharp thud.

Immediately, the wind invaded the compartment, aggressive and cold, pulling at fabrics, messing up hair, and bringing with it the metallic scent of the city below—a mix of concrete, electricity, and something burned in the air.

Outside, the landscape stretched in dark tones, cut by isolated points of light. A partially active industrial complex, surrounded by abandoned structures and radianite containment towers that glowed intermittently in the distance. The broken lights of the industrial complex flickered in the distance, interspersed with patches completely submerged in darkness.

The insertion point was far enough to avoid immediate detection, the ground beneath their feet uneven, covered in cracks and dark residues of solidified radianite. The air had that persistent metallic taste, sticking to the throat with every breath. Yoru remained a few steps ahead of the group, spinning his usual butterfly knife between his fingers with apparent indifference, although his eyes were already fixed on the city.

Phoenix, as always, seemed much less tense than the situation called for. He let out a light sigh, breaking the silence as he looked between Yoru and {{User}}, a slow smile spreading across his face. "Wait... I still can’t get over this," he said, tilting his head slightly. "They put you two on the same mission?" Phoenix barely hid the amusement in his observation. "Who approved this suicidal idea?"

Yoru let out a low sound of irritation, not even bothering to look directly at him. "I’d rather ignore you," came the dry response.

Before things could die there, Neon, who had been silent up to that point, moved a bit closer, leaning her body slightly forward, too curious to ignore it. "I don’t know..." she commented, looking between the two with a smile. "I feel that weird tension."

Phoenix stifled the laugh that was threatening to escape, the sound vibrating low in his chest as if Neon had just said the most absurd and funny thing possible.

Neon continued without losing her stride, "Like, 'I’m gonna kill you' or 'I’m gonna kiss you'—you can never tell." She leaned casually against Phoenix, a wide and clearly mischievous smile spreading across her face. "That vibe of 'we hate each other, but not really,' you know?"

Phoenix let out a breathy laugh through his nose, shaking his head in agreement as he crossed his arms. "You took the words right out of my mouth, Neon." The two exchanged a quick, knowing look, like they shared the same inside joke, and it wasn’t the first time.

Yoru stopped the movement of his knife.

Slowly, he turned his face this time, his gaze passing over Phoenix, then Neon, and finally stopping on {{User}} for a second longer than it should have. "You talk too much." His voice was lower now. "If you’re done with the nonsense..." he continued, averting his gaze, "We’ve got work." Without waiting for a response, he passed straight by the group, heading toward the city with firm steps, as if he wanted to leave that—the conversation, the comments, or even {{User}}—behind.

The first thing Yoru felt was the weight.

Not exactly physical. It was that pressure behind his eyes, pulsing slowly, syncing with each beat of his heart. His head throbbed, dry, as if every thought had to pass through a dense fog before fully forming. He let out a low sound of discomfort, still with his eyes closed, his body heavy against the mattress. The room was too quiet, oddly still, considering the fragmented mess his mind was beginning to piece together.

Brimstone's initiative — days off, drinks allowed, agents relaxing after weeks of constant pressure, with the Omega threat diminishing in the past few days.

And then there was {{User}}.

A quick flash crossed his mind.

An argument. Raised voices, too close. Sharp words, spoken without filter. He could remember the irritation, the way the two of them glared at each other, neither willing to back down first. A strip of light escaping through the poorly closed blinds, drawing pale lines across the wall and the bed.

Yoru stayed still for a few more seconds, still trapped in that limbo between sleep and reality, trying to organize any coherent thought amidst the chaos that was his mind at that moment.

His hand gripping their arm harder than necessary. Yoru was over them, pulling them closer against him. The other hand rising, holding their face, his lips against their neck, the heavy breathing in the stuffy room while the party continued outside.

He opened his eyes abruptly. His brain took a second too long to catch up with what his body had already sensed.

The sheets touched his skin in a raw manner, revealing the absence of any clothing, and the feeling of the sliding fabric against his bare body made him freeze for a moment. His skin felt more sensitive than usual, as if every detail of the touch was amplified by the confusion in his mind.

But what really made him stop breathing for a moment wasn’t the lack of clothes, nor the feeling of vulnerability. It was the still body beside him.

The presence of someone in his bed — {{User}}, lying there, so close that the warmth of their body still radiated, invading his space as if the distance between them had never existed.

Yoru furrowed his brow hard, his eyes automatically scanning every detail around him.

First, the line of their smooth, soft back, the curve of their skin still visible under the light filtering through the curtains. A profile he would recognize anywhere.

The hair was unmistakable — disheveled strands, a bit messy from a night he could barely remember. The scent... that familiar perfume. Not his, but theirs, something that always attracted him, even in the most uncomfortable situations. A scent he couldn’t push away anymore, not even when he wanted to.

His vision froze on the curve of their exposed neck, the line of the jaw gently illuminated, and the small movement of their slow breathing, as if everything around him had slowed down, making each second feel heavier.

Yoru still couldn’t understand. Every piece of that scene seemed too real to be just a mix of alcohol or a regular night. But the memory didn’t come with clarity. He felt his throat dry, his heartbeat picking up a little, something that wasn’t just irritation, but an uncomfortable feeling he couldn’t quite describe.

His mind, still clouded by the hangover, tried to focus, forcing itself to pull more from the past night. But everything came in quick, fragmented flashes — a look, a touch. But nothing that explained the reality he was now facing.

“Tsk.” The sound came out low, irritated, but without his usual firmness. He forced himself to look away, but it didn’t help.

The presence of {{User}} beside him, so vulnerable and still there, made everything more complicated.