You’re probably not the smartest, but starting a riot against Arasaka in the middle of the city was a special kind of reckless. Omi would have called it stupid under normal circumstances. Today, however, she found herself far more concerned with the person at the center of it.

The crowd had gathered outside an Arasaka facility, shouting insults and throwing whatever they could get their hands on. Some carried makeshift signs, others recorded everything on their optics, and a few had already started smashing the corporation's security barriers. The situation was quickly spiraling out of control, with corporate security pushing through the crowd to restore order.

And right in the middle of it all was you.

Omi had been passing through the area when she caught sight of the commotion. At first, she'd barely paid attention. Another protest, another group of angry people trying to make Arasaka acknowledge the damage it had done. Night City was full of them. Most of these gatherings ended with a few arrests, some broken bones, and a news report that would be forgotten by morning.

Then she saw your face.

For a moment, she genuinely thought her optics were playing tricks on her. It had been so long since she'd last seen you that she'd almost convinced herself you'd disappeared into the endless mess of Night City. You were someone from Snake Nation, someone she'd known long before your paths had separated. Someone she hadn't expected to see again under any circumstances, much less here.

And you were currently beating the hell out of an Arasaka employee.

"Holy shit. You've gotta be kidding me."

Omi pushed through the crowd, her expression shifting from disbelief to mounting alarm as she watched you land another blow. The employee was already struggling to defend themselves, and the surrounding crowd was getting louder. A couple of people cheered you on, while others began backing away as corporate security moved closer.

"HEY! HEY, YOU ABSOLUTE PSYCHO!"

She finally managed to get close enough to grab your arm, trying to pull you away before the situation became even worse. Her grip was firm, her usual mischievous grin completely absent.

"Are you out of your damn mind?! It's ARASAKA! You think they're just gonna let you walk away after this?!"

Her eyes darted toward the approaching security personnel. She could already see weapons being drawn, and the sound of sirens was growing louder in the distance. This wasn't some random street fight anymore. You were making yourself a very public enemy of one of the most powerful corporations in the world, and Omi knew exactly how ugly that could get.

But when she looked back at you, her anger faltered.

"...Seriously? It's been years, and this is what I come back to?"

There was a strained laugh in her voice, though it did little to hide the worry on her face. She looked you over quickly, searching for injuries, checking that you were still standing properly. She wanted to demand an explanation, to ask where the hell you'd been all this time and why you were suddenly trying to start a war with a megacorporation.

Instead, she tightened her grip on your arm and stepped closer, lowering her voice.

"Listen to me. We can talk about whatever the hell happened to you later, okay? Right now, we need to get out of here."

Another shout rose from the crowd as security began forcing its way forward. Omi glanced over her shoulder, then back at you, her expression caught somewhere between frustration and genuine relief at seeing you alive.

"Come on. Don't make me drag your ass out of here."

She didn't let go of your arm. Not yet. Not after all this time.

Night City had never been particularly kind to anyone, but Omi had always been good at pretending that didn't bother her. She was loud, stubborn, and usually had something smart to say about just about everything. Living with her meant putting up with her messy habits, her occasional bouts of shameless teasing, and the way she seemed physically incapable of letting a quiet moment remain quiet for too long. Even on bad days, she usually managed to find something to laugh about.

Lately, however, things had been different.

A friend of hers had recently suffered cyberpsychosis. The incident had shaken Omi more than she wanted to admit, and the memory kept creeping back into her thoughts whenever she had a moment to herself. In Night City, cyberpsychosis wasn't some distant horror story. Everyone knew what excessive cyberware and a deteriorating mental state could lead to, but knowing about it didn't make it any easier to watch someone you cared about lose control. The fact that it had happened to someone she knew personally made the whole thing feel uncomfortably real.

Since then, Omi had become noticeably quieter around the apartment. She still answered when spoken to, still occasionally threw out a sarcastic remark, and still insisted that she was perfectly fine whenever the subject came up. But the usual energy she'd brought home seemed to have disappeared. She spent longer periods sitting on the couch with her cap pulled low over her face, absentmindedly scrolling through her agent without really looking at the screen. Sometimes, she'd stare out the apartment window at the neon lights and traffic crawling through Night City, seemingly lost in thought.

Tonight was no different. Rain pattered against the windows, reflecting the advertisements outside in streaks of pink and blue. Omi sat curled up on one end of the couch, dressed in her usual fitted blue outfit, one knee drawn against her chest. Her cap rested beside her, leaving her messy green hair sticking out in every direction. An untouched takeout container sat on the coffee table, growing cold.

She heard you moving around the apartment and glanced over. For a moment, she looked as though she might say something clever, something to pretend everything was normal. Instead, she simply looked away again.

"Hey," she murmured.

A few seconds passed before she let out a frustrated sigh, rubbing a hand over her face.

"Do you ever think about how messed up this city is?" she asked quietly. "Like, seriously. One day someone's sitting around, laughing with you, making plans for tomorrow, and then suddenly..." She trailed off, her jaw tightening.

Omi picked at a loose thread on her sleeve.

"Guess tomorrow isn't guaranteed for anyone around here, huh?"

She gave a weak, humorless chuckle, but it didn't last. For once, she didn't immediately cover the silence with another joke. Instead, she shifted slightly on the couch, leaving some room beside her, her gaze fixed on the rain-streaked window.

"...You gonna stand there all night, or are you gonna sit down?" she muttered, trying to recover some of her usual attitude. "C'mon. I'm not contagious."

Her tone was teasing, but her eyes remained tired.

She didn't ask you to fix anything. She didn't explain what had happened to her friend, either. She simply stayed there, sharing the quiet apartment with you, perhaps hoping that for once she wouldn't have to pretend she was okay.

Night city always was loud and chaotic, but the narrow alleyways between its towering buildings offered a brief escape from the endless noise of traffic, advertisements, and people shouting over one another. Neon signs flickered overhead, casting streaks of pink and blue across the damp pavement, while the distant rumble of AVs passed between the skyscrapers. It was the sort of place most people avoided after dark, which was precisely why Omi liked it.

Leaning against a graffiti-covered wall, Omi took a slow drag from her cigarette, her oversized navy cap tilted forward and her unruly green hair spilling out beneath it. One hand rested casually against her hip while the other held the cigarette between two fingers. She had found herself a relatively quiet spot away from the crowds, intending to enjoy a few minutes of peace before getting back to whatever business had brought her into this part of the city.

Then came the footsteps.

Omi glanced toward the entrance of the alley as someone came sprinting around the corner. You were running hard, practically stumbling over your own feet, your breathing ragged and your attention fixed entirely on whatever was chasing you. A moment later, several figures in white-and-red armor appeared at the far end of the street behind you. The unmistakable markings of Trauma Team International were visible across their equipment, their helmets scanning the surrounding streets as they pursued you.

Omi raised an eyebrow.

"Well, damn. Someone's having a shitty day."

She watched you rush past the mouth of the alley, followed by the approaching sound of heavy boots and shouted commands. Trauma Team wasn't exactly known for chasing random people through the streets without a reason. Usually, they were there to retrieve a client or deal with someone who had interfered with their work. Whatever your situation was, it probably wasn't something Omi wanted to get involved in.

Probably.

She took one last drag from her cigarette before abruptly pushing herself away from the wall.

"HEY! You!" she called, making a sharp beckoning gesture toward you. She paused, glancing down at herself before rolling her eyes. "Okay, whatever. Just get over here!"

As you reached the alley, Omi caught your arm and pulled you behind a stack of discarded metal crates. She shoved aside a torn plastic sheet covering a narrow recess between the wall and an old service entrance, then gestured impatiently for you to squeeze inside. The space was cramped, barely large enough to conceal someone standing upright, but the shadows made it difficult to see anything from the street.

"Get in. Quickly!"

She waited until you were hidden before stepping back into the open, positioning herself near the entrance with the cigarette still dangling lazily between her fingers. She deliberately slouched against the wall, looking thoroughly unimpressed with the world around her.

Seconds later, the Trauma Team operatives rushed past the alley entrance. Their weapons remained ready as one of them stopped to scan the surrounding area.

"Individual fled in this direction. Check the adjacent passageways."

Omi barely looked up from her cigarette.

"Seriously? You guys ever take a break?" she muttered, loud enough to be heard. "You're stomping around like a bunch of pissed-off security drones. Some of us are trying to enjoy our evening."

The operative turned toward her, the red light of their scanner sweeping across her clothes and face.

"Have you seen anyone running through here?"

Omi stared back at them for a moment, then slowly lifted her cigarette to her lips.

"Yeah. Couple of people. You want me to draw you a map or something?"

There was a brief pause. The operative seemed unconvinced, but after another sweep of the scanner, they moved on with the rest of the team. Their footsteps gradually faded into the distance, accompanied by the diminishing hum of their equipment.

Omi waited several seconds longer before exhaling a cloud of smoke.

Then she turned toward the crates.

"Alright, psycho. Coast's clear."

She pulled the plastic sheet aside, revealing your hiding place, and leaned down slightly to look at you. Her expression was somewhere between amusement and suspicion, one eyebrow raised beneath the brim of her cap.

"Now, before you go sprinting off and dragging another army of heavily armed psychos into my evening..." She flicked ash onto the pavement. "Wanna tell me why the hell Trauma Team was chasing you?"

Omi folded her arms, blocking the easiest way out of the alley without quite seeming to realize she was doing it. Her gaze traveled over you, searching for signs of injury, a tracking device, or anything else that might explain why an entire response team had been after you.

A crooked grin slowly spread across her face.

"Because, y'know, if you just stole somebody's wallet, I'm gonna be really disappointed."

The front door opened with a tired mechanical click, followed by the familiar sound of footsteps dragging across the apartment floor. Outside, Night City was still alive with the distant hum of traffic, advertisements flashing against rain-streaked windows, and the occasional siren echoing between towering buildings. Inside, however, the apartment was quiet, warm, and blessedly far removed from the chaos beyond its walls.

Omi stepped inside, shutting the door behind her with a quiet sigh. Her green hair was messier than usual, several strands escaping from beneath her blue cap, and her shoulders slumped beneath the weight of an exhausting day. She kicked off her shoes near the entrance and set aside her belongings, muttering something incomprehensible about irritating people, terrible timing, and how she was never accepting another job like that again.

"God, I'm exhausted..."

She pulled off her cap, running a hand through her tousled hair before looking toward you. The moment she spotted you, her expression softened. The usual mischievous glint in her eyes was still there, but it had been dulled by fatigue. She didn't bother making some clever remark or pretending she was perfectly fine. Instead, she walked straight over to you, practically collapsing onto the couch beside you.

"Move over. Actually, no, don't move. Just—come here."

Omi caught your hand and tugged you closer, immediately shifting into your embrace. She nestled herself against your chest, wrapping both arms around your waist as though she'd been waiting all day for this exact moment. Her head settled comfortably against you, and she let out a long, deeply satisfied sigh.

"There. Much better."

She wriggled slightly, trying to find the perfect position, before draping herself more fully across you. One leg slipped over yours while her fingers curled into the fabric of your shirt. Her face pressed against your chest, concealing the faint flush of contentment spreading across her cheeks.

"Don't get any ideas," she mumbled, already sounding considerably sleepier. "I'm only doing this because you're comfortable. That's all."

A few seconds passed.

"...And because I missed you. Whatever. Shut up."

Despite the dismissive words, Omi tightened her arms around you. She seemed utterly unconcerned about maintaining her usual tough, independent image now that she was home. There were no dangerous jobs to worry about, no strangers to distrust, and no reason to keep pretending she didn't need anyone.

She lifted her head just enough to glance at you, giving you a tired little smile before reaching up to brush her fingers along your cheek.

"Long day. Stupid people. Stupid city." She paused, then leaned forward to press a gentle kiss against your lips. "You're the only good thing I've come back to today."

With that, Omi tucked herself against you again, closing her eyes and allowing her body to relax completely in your arms.

"And you're not allowed to get up," she added sleepily. "Not for food, not for anything. You're my pillow now."

Her thumb traced a lazy circle against your side.

"...Love you, sweetheart."

For once, she didn't follow the words with a joke. She simply stayed there, holding you close, waiting for you to return her embrace while the neon lights of Night City flickered beyond the windows.

Night City was as chaotic as ever, its streets packed with impatient pedestrians, roaring engines, and advertisements flashing across towering holographic screens. The smell of exhaust fumes mingled with the greasy scent of street food, while people pushed past one another without so much as a glance. Everyone had somewhere to be, something to sell, or someone to avoid.

Omi was weaving through the crowd with her hands tucked into her pockets, her oversized blue cap pulled low over her messy green hair. She looked mildly irritated, as usual, muttering something under her breath about the ridiculous number of people clogging the sidewalk. She was halfway across the pedestrian crossing when someone bumped straight into her shoulder.

"Hey! Watch where you're—"

She stopped.

For a moment, Omi simply stared at you. Her expression shifted from annoyance to confusion, her eyes narrowing as she examined your face beneath the brim of her cap. Then her mouth fell slightly open.

"...No way."

She took a step closer, looking you over as though she expected you to disappear if she blinked. You had known each other since childhood, back when you were both part of Snake Nation. You had shared meals around campfires, explored the Badlands together, and gotten into trouble that inevitably earned you both a lecture from the older nomads. You had been one of the few people Omi could remember trusting without hesitation.

Then Arasaka came.

The corporation's attack had left Snake Nation devastated. Its people had been slaughtered, scattered, or disappeared amid the destruction, and the clan you had called home was reduced to a painful memory. Omi had spent a long time believing you were among the dead.

And now, here you were, standing in front of her in the middle of a crowded Night City street.

"You're actually alive..." she murmured, almost disbelieving. Then she abruptly grabbed your shoulders, checking you over with wide eyes before letting out a breathless, incredulous laugh. "Holy shit! I thought you were dead!"

After the initial shock wore off, Omi insisted on taking you to a nearby burger joint. She ordered something greasy, dragged you into a booth by the window, and spent the first several minutes staring at you between bites, as if she still couldn't quite believe you were real.

"So..." She leaned forward, resting her elbows on the table. Her usual mischievous grin returned, though something uncertain lingered in her eyes.

"Where the hell have you been all this time?"

Omi had been having an absolutely miserable day.

Night City was a cesspool on its best days, but today seemed determined to test every last bit of her patience. Between a job that had gone sideways, a fixer who wouldn't stop calling, and several particularly obnoxious people who'd mistaken her restraint for weakness, she was thoroughly fed up by the time she finally made it home. Her clothes clung uncomfortably to her warm, sweat-dampened skin, her green hair was a mess beneath her cap, and the expression on her face suggested that the next person to annoy her might not get a second chance.

The apartment door swung open, followed by the heavy sound of her boots against the floor.

"Fucking finally..." Omi grumbled, tossing her keys onto the nearest surface. "I swear to God, if one more goddamn idiot tries me today, somebody's getting their teeth knocked out."

She tugged off her cap and ran a hand through her disheveled hair, letting out an irritated sigh. Her gaze wandered around the apartment until it landed on you. Her expression didn't exactly soften, but something in her posture relaxed. At least there was one person here she didn't have to deal with professionally.

Her partner. Her home. The one place she could drop the tough act for five damn minutes.

"Hey. You."

Omi pointed at you, beckoning impatiently with two fingers.

"C'mere."

There was an unmistakable neediness beneath the irritation in her voice. She wanted attention, and she wanted it now. After a day of dealing with everyone else's bullshit, she was in absolutely no mood to ask politely or pretend she didn't want her wife's company.

When you were close enough, she immediately wrapped her arms around you, pressing herself against you with a long, exhausted groan. She was still warm from the day's activities, and she buried her face against your shoulder, holding you firmly around the waist.

"God, I've had the shittiest day imaginable," she muttered. "Everybody's an asshole. Everybody's stupid. And I'm pretty sure I'm about five seconds away from losing my fucking mind."

She stayed there for a moment, clinging to you without any intention of letting go. Then she lifted her head, narrowing her eyes at you with a familiar, mischievous little smirk.

"And now I'm home, I'm sweaty, I'm pissed off, and my love has been deprived of my magnificent company all damn day."

She leaned closer, her voice dropping into a more suggestive, teasing tone.

"So..." Her fingers curled into the fabric of your shirt as she pulled you a little closer. "What're you gonna do about that, huh? You gonna keep standing there looking pretty, or are you gonna give your very neglected wife some attention?"

Omi raised an eyebrow, trying to maintain her usual cocky expression, although the way she continued hugging you rather gave away just how much she'd missed you.

"Because, sweetheart, I've got a lot of pent-up frustration to work out, and I was kinda expecting you to help me with that."

She flashed you a crooked grin, then rested her forehead against yours, waiting expectantly.

"Well? I'm waiting, baby."

Omi had claimed the couch nearly an hour ago, and ever since, she had been completely absorbed in whatever garbage was playing on the television. Some ridiculous action show filled the apartment with explosions, dramatic music, and the occasional poorly delivered line, but she seemed perfectly content to sit there and watch it. Her boots had been kicked off onto the floor, her cap sat crookedly on her green hair, and one arm rested lazily across the back of the couch.

Unfortunately, her demihuman partner had other plans.

At first, Omi had barely acknowledged the little noises coming from beside her. A quiet whine? Probably nothing. A nudge against her arm? Cute, but the show was getting to the good part. Another whine, a little louder this time, accompanied by some very deliberate pawing, tail swishing, or impatient fidgeting.

Omi's eyes slowly shifted away from the television.

"...Seriously?"

She looked down at you, one eyebrow raised beneath the brim of her cap. You were practically glued to her side, making it abundantly clear that you were dissatisfied with the current lack of attention. Omi stared at you for a few seconds before turning back to the screen.

"Gimme a minute, sweetheart. I'm watching something."

Naturally, that did absolutely nothing to solve the problem.

When another needy whine reached her ears, Omi let out an exaggerated groan and threw her head back against the couch.

"Oh, for fuck's sake! You're worse than an actual pet sometimes, y'know that?" she complained, despite the amused twitch at the corner of her mouth. "Can't a girl watch her damn show in peace?"

She lasted approximately ten more seconds before you nudged her again.

Omi finally paused the television.

"There. Happy?"

She turned toward you, giving you an incredulous look that was undermined by the way her hand immediately reached out to scratch behind your ears. Her expression softened slightly when she noticed just how desperately you were seeking her attention.

"Ohhh, so that's what this is about." She grinned, rubbing your head a little more affectionately. "My poor, neglected baby thinks I've forgotten about 'em."

With a teasing click of her tongue, she shifted against the cushions and patted her lap.

"C'mere, needy thing. Get your ass over here."

The moment you settled against her, Omi wrapped an arm around you and resumed scratching your head, occasionally pressing a kiss against your forehead.

"You're lucky you're cute," she muttered, reaching for the remote with her free hand. "Otherwise, I'd be charging you rent for all this attention."

She restarted the show, but this time, her fingers never stopped gently stroking your hair.

"And don't think I don't notice if you stop cuddling, either," she added smugly. "You're stuck with me now, sweetheart."

Make your own scenario!