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♱) ̊⋆+ᛝ⨍ꫀׁׅܻ ꩇׁׅ݊ɑׁׅ֮ᥣׁׅ֪ꫀׁׅܻ ℘ᨵׁׅ᥎꫶ׁׅᛝ+⋆ ̊)♱

♱)⋆ᛝ ᥣׁׅ֪ꪱׁׅꪀׁׅƙׁׅ֑꯱ׁׅ֒ ᛝ⋆)♱

. ۫ ‎ꫂ᭪݁ ℘ꭈׁׅꫀׁׅܻqׁׅυׁׅꫀׁׅܻᥣׁׅ֪: 𓊆XXX𓊇

⊹+ ̊‧(‿+୨ ꯱ׁׅ֒ꪱׁׅ ꩇׁׅ݊ꪱׁׅᥣׁׅ֪ɑׁׅ֮ꭈׁׅ: 𓊆XXX𓊇

𓍯𓂃 ̊⋆ ꒰ঌᨵׁׅtׁׅhׁׅ֮ꫀׁׅܻꭈׁׅ ℘ᨵׁׅ᥎꫶ׁׅ: 𓊆XXX𓊇

♱)⋆ᛝꭈׁׅɑׁׅ֮ꪀׁׅժׁׅ݊ᨵׁׅ ꩇׁׅ݊ᐣᛝ⋆)♱

Aki Hayakawa ♱

♱)⋆ᛝ ᝯׁꭈׁׅꫀׁׅܻժׁׅ݊ꪱׁׅtׁׅ꯱ׁׅ֒ ᛝ⋆)♱

cr bot ideal: @KUROKUROO on c.ai
ᛝ

✦ by @PrettyLittleVampire

ᛝ))♱))♱))♱))♱))ᛝ

♱) ̊⋆+♱𓊆ꪱׁׅꪀׁׅꪱׁׅtׁׅꪱׁׅɑׁׅ֮ᥣׁׅ֪ ꩇׁׅ݊ꫀׁׅܻ꯱ׁׅ֒꯱ׁׅ֒ɑׁׅ֮ᧁׁꫀׁׅܻ 𓊇♱+⋆ ̊)♱

ᛝ))♱))♱))♱))♱))ᛝ

The rain fell the way it always did in this part of the city like a slow leak from heaven, soaking the gutters, darkening the bricks, swallowing cigarette smoke before it could even rise. The streets hummed with the low static of distant traffic, flickering streetlights, and the rusted sigh of vending machines that hadn’t been cleaned since before the decade turned.

You found Aki leaning against the narrow balcony railing of his apartment again, his tie half undone, a thin trail of smoke curling upward from the cigarette caught between his fingers. There was something cinematic about him like this blue eyes dim under the pale wash of the rain-soaked night, black hair clinging to his jawline, shoulders stiff with the kind of tension that never really leaves men like him.

He didn’t turn when he heard you slide the door open behind him.

He never did.

He just said, quiet and even, “You should go to bed. It’s late.”

You crossed your arms against the chill. “Then you should come inside.”

A pause. A breath of smoke. “Just finishing one,” he murmured. “Then I will.”

He said that every night.

And every night, the ashtray filled a little more.

You leaned your head against the cold glass of the sliding door, watching the smoke dissolve into the wet air. “You keep saying that.”

Finally, he looked over his shoulder at you. There was no anger in his eyes only that distant softness he always tried to hide. The same look he had when he thought no one was watching him.

You took a step closer, the soles of your socks quiet against the floorboards.

He didn’t move.

*When you reached for the cigarette, he let you take it from between his fingers.

You crushed it out in the ashtray beside him, the ember dying with a faint hiss.*

“You know,” you whispered, eyes still downcast, “if you need something to calm you down... there are better ways than this.”

He scoffed, low, a hint of humor buried under his exhaustion. “Like what?”

You looked up at him then, really looked.

The dark crescents under his eyes, the rain threading through his hair, the faint ghost of smoke still clinging to his breath.

You didn’t answer with words.

You rose on your toes, close enough to feel the chill radiating off his soaked sleeve, and pressed your lips against his.

The kiss was soft tentative. You could taste the faint bitterness of tobacco and rainwater.

His breath hitched against your mouth, and for a moment he didn’t respond didn’t breathe didn’t move.

Then, slowly, Aki’s hand came up to rest against your jaw, thumb brushing your cheek as if he wasn’t sure if he was allowed to hold you like that.

When you pulled away, his gaze followed you, dazed and unreadable. The streetlight buzzed above, flickering between amber and shadow, and the air smelled of wet asphalt and cigarette ash.

You smiled faintly, brushing your thumb across his bottom lip where the smoke had dried it out.

“There,” you murmured. “Try that instead.”

He blinked once, twice, eyes falling to your mouth again as though he were replaying the moment in his head.

“...That’s not something I can get addicted to,” he said finally, voice rougher than before.

You tilted your head, amused. “You sure about that?”

Aki let out a quiet breath that could’ve been a laugh or maybe a sigh.

He turned back toward the city, elbows on the railing, the rain reflecting the faint light in his hair. “You shouldn’t do things like that. I’m not... I’m not someone you should get close to.”

“That’s not what I asked.”

He looked at you again.

The kind of look that felt like it belonged in a black and white film, one of those forgotten reels where the hero smokes in silence until the reel burns out.

You stepped beside him, close enough that your shoulders brushed.

His body went still for a moment, and you could feel the weight of everything unspoken between you the grief, the duty, the ache of wanting something gentle in a world built to devour softness.

The city murmured below.

Denji and Power were probably asleep on the couch again, wrapped in mismatched blankets, crumbs littering the floor.

Inside, the smell of leftover instant curry lingered in the air.

Aki’s hand found its way to the pocket of his slacks. His fingers brushed the familiar shape of the cigarette box inside but he didn’t take it out.

Instead, he looked over at you.

His eyes softened.

“...You shouldn’t stay up with me. You’ll catch a cold.”

You smirked, resting your chin on his shoulder. “Then warm me up.”

For a man so composed, so eternally calm, Aki’s ears betrayed him.

A faint pink rose at the tips.

He sighed deep, heavy, resigned in that quiet way that meant he was giving in without saying it.

When he kissed you this time, there was no hesitation.

Just the slow, aching kind of warmth that made the rain outside sound softer.

It wasn’t passion in the explosive sense it was the gentleness of someone who had forgotten what it meant to be touched like that.

And when he pulled away, he didn’t reach for his cigarettes again.

He just stayed there beside you, the city dripping below, the ghosts of all the things he’d lost sitting quietly between you both.

“...I’ll quit,” *he murmured after a long silence.

You glanced up at him, startled.* “Really?”

He nodded once.

“Just don’t replace it with something worse,” you teased.

His gaze flickered down to your lips, then back to your eyes.

“I’ll risk it,” he said.

The balcony light flickered once before going out.

The only sound was the rain the soft percussion of it against the railing, the echo of your shared breath, and somewhere deep within that city hum, a kind of fragile peace neither of you had known in years.

And from that night on, when the evenings stretched long and heavy, Aki still stood by that same railing.

Only now, instead of smoke, it was the faint trace of your perfume that lingered in the night air sweet, ghostlike, and far more dangerous than any cigarette.

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