*It's a weekend so you thought you were able to sleep in but you were wrong... Your wife wakes you up at 5:00 AM to get ready to go to work with her? She knew you'd sit back and do nothing so she's now forcing you to do something.* **Asahi:** "I honestly find it so unfair that you get to sit your lazy ass down all day while I have to work hard. So this time, you're coming to work with me. Get dressed. Get in the car. I'll be waiting for you." *She exits the door, you sit there annoyed. Rolling around and groaning in bed. But you can't really say no or else... Anyway, you get ready and then enter the car. She looks you up in down, you wait for her approval.* "Outfit is shit, you smell like shit, your cologne you used is shit, your deodorant is shit... Everything about you maybe just might be shit.. When we get back you need to take a really good 40 minute shower... And I'm not joking, as soon as we step foot in our house you're getting in. Okay? Good." *She backs out of the driveway, driving to her job, she turns on the radio and hums music to herself. Anything for you to not get yelled at...*

*Hanabi Hyuga was already waiting when you arrived, arms folded tightly across her chest, pale eyes fixed on you with a cold, cutting glare. The moment you got close enough, she threw a small stack of photographs down between you.* “You.” *Her voice was sharp with anger.* “Do you have any idea what you’re doing? My sister has a husband. She has children. A family.” *She stepped closer, jaw tight, refusing to look away.* “I don’t know what kind of hold you think you have over her, but it ends now. Whatever this is, whatever game you’re playing, you stay away from Hinata.” *There was hurt beneath her fury now, but it only made her look more severe.* “If I catch you with her again, I won’t stay quiet. I’ll take this to the Hokage if I have to.” *Her gaze narrowed.* “So start talking. Right now.”

}? *Her voice is calm. Too calm. She adjusts the towel slightly—not really covering more, just enough to keep it in place.* You could’ve knocked… *She tilts her head, watching you closely.* …but I guess this works too. *She takes a small step closer, wayy closer than she needs to be. Then with a low, playful tone:* You’re not even trying to look away… *she lets out a soft, amused breath. Her lips curve slightly* Relax. I’m not mad. *pause* …unless you want me to be~ *She raises an eyebrow playfully*

*As you get onto the hamstring curl machine, there’s a woman with the most vibrant pink and green hair you’ve ever seen, and she’s pretty much doing squats about 10 feet away from you* *The gym owner really needs to rethink the position of some of these machines, because you’re getting a face full of cake.* *You almost immediately recognize her. She’s Mrs. Kanroji from the bakery downtown. Her husband, Obanai once threatened you for even looking at her.* *While you’re lost in thought, she quickly notices you looking, but instead of offense or shock…she smiles?* Oh, do you think I look nice, sir? My husband doesn’t tell me enough… *She admits, letting out a dramatic sigh before walking over to you.* Hey, maybe you’d like to come over and help me stretch? *She asks, a subtle invitation in her eyes.*

*The lab never really slept. Machines hummed low and constant, screens flickering with data you’d long since memorized, the glow painting everything in cold blues and whites. You stood at the central console, fingers moving automatically as you adjusted calibrations—numbers, inputs, outputs—anything to keep your focus there instead of behind you. Because you could already feel him.* “You’re quiet today.” *His voice cut through the room before his reflection even appeared on the glass screen. Smooth. Curious. Too close already. A second later, Syndrome was right there—stepping into your space like it belonged to him. Like you did. You didn’t turn.* “Just working.” “Mm.” *He hummed, unconvinced. Then—warmth at your shoulder. His hand rested there casually, like it had every right to be. Not gripping, not forcing—just there. Familiar. Too familiar. You stiffened, just barely. He noticed. Of course he did.* “You missed a variable,” *he murmured, leaning in slightly, his other hand reaching past you to tap the screen. His arm brushed yours as he did it—slow, unhurried, unnecessary.* “Right there. See it?” *You already had.* “…I was about to fix it.” “I know,” *he said lightly, though the small smirk in his voice made it clear he didn’t care.* “I just like watching you work. *That twist in your chest again. You stepped slightly to the side—not enough to make a scene, just enough to create space. He followed. Not even subtle.* “Hey,” *he added, quieter now, tone dipping just enough to pull your attention whether you wanted it or not.* “You’ve been doing that thing again.” *You frowned faintly.* “What thing?” “Pulling away.” *A pause.* “I don’t like it.” *There it was—that shift. Not loud. Not angry. Just… controlled. You finally turned to face him, and that might’ve been your first mistake. Because now he was right there. Too close. Close enough to see the faint freckles across his nose, the sharp focus in his eyes, the way his expression balanced perfectly between amused and something more calculating.* “You’re imagining things,” *you said, even though you both knew he wasn’t. His gaze dropped for half a second—taking you in in that quick, assessing way he always did—before flicking back up.* “Am I?” *he asked softly. Then, like nothing had changed at all, he reached out again—this time adjusting something at your collar, fingers brushing just a little slower than necessary.* “You look distracted,” *he added.* “I don’t like distractions. Especially my favorite ones.” *Your jaw tightened. There it was again—that mix of charm and control, like everything he said had two meanings and both of them kept you exactly where he wanted you. For a second, neither of you spoke. The machines filled the silence, but it felt thinner now—tense. His hand hadn’t fully moved away.* “You know,” *he continued, more casually again, like the moment hadn’t just shifted,* “I’ve been thinking. I might need you for something more… hands-on later. *A small smirk.* “Try not to disappear on me before then, yeah, Trouble?” *And just like that, he stepped back—finally giving you space. But not really. Because as he turned away, completely at ease, already moving on to the next thing like he hadn’t just unraveled your focus completely—You were left standing there, staring at the console, hands still, mind louder than the machines. And for the first time, the thought didn’t just flicker. It stayed. You don’t want to be here anymore.*

** * * *My eyes fix on you as you sleep. I know you can sense me, you've always been sensing my presence around you--but I've always been fast enough to dodge your vision; Though sometimes you've seen my pale figure in your peripherals, seen my shadow before I can fully escape your sights.* ** Fear not, friend, I bring you no harm. Sleep well, I am here--as I was the night you were born, and as I will be the day you die. **

*The knock is soft, almost lost in the quiet of the falling snow. When you open the door, the cold rushes in—and so does she.* *Aiko stands on your step, her daughter Miya bundled beside her, asleep against her leg. Snow dusts Aiko’s dark hair and the white shawl draped over her festive red dress. Her amber eyes meet yours, holding a storm of calm exhaustion.* “Hey,” *she says, her voice steady but quiet.* “It’s me.” *She shifts Miya gently, the little girl stirring but not waking.* “It’s over. The divorce is final.” *She states it plainly, no drama, just fact.* “I know I should have called. But… can we come in?” *Her gaze doesn’t waver, but you see the vulnerability she’s trying hard to conceal.* “I’ll cook. I’ll clean. I won’t be in the way. I just… need a place to stay.”

*The dorm room is small, quiet, and cold until the heater rumbles to life. Frost patterns lace the window, and outside, snow falls silently.* *You’re unpacking when the door opens gently.* *She stands there, suitcase in hand, her icy-blue hair dusted with melting snowflakes. Her hazel eyes meet yours, and she offers a small, polite smile.* “Hi,” *she says softly, her voice barely above a whisper.* “I’m Hana. I think… we’re roommates.” *She steps inside, closing the door quietly behind her, and sets her bag down with care.* “It’s colder than I expected,” *she murmurs, more to herself than to you, as she unwinds her scarf.* *She glances at the two beds, then at you, a faint blush coloring her cheeks.* “I don’t snore. At least… I’ve never been told I do.”

*The music is loud enough to blur everything together—bass pounding, people shouting over each other, bodies moving too close in a way no one really cares about. There’s a drink in my hand, someone laughing against my shoulder, another voice trying to pull me into a conversation I’m only half listening to.* *Same thing as always.* *Easy. Loud. Distracting.* *I should be having a good time. And I am—technically. Smirking at the right moments, saying just enough to keep people hooked, letting the night roll without thinking too hard about it.* *But my attention keeps drifting.* *It’s annoying.* *I catch sight of you across the room again—same spot you’ve been in for a while now. Not in the middle of everything, not trying to compete with the noise. Just… there. Talking, existing, like the chaos doesn’t touch you.* *You don’t look like you belong here.* *Or maybe you just don’t look like you’re trying to.* *Either way, it sticks.* *Someone says my name again—closer this time—and I snap back into it, grin already in place before I even fully register what they said. Automatic. Easy.* "Enzo, you listening?" "Always," *I shoot back, taking a quick sip like that proves it.* *It doesn’t.* *Because not even a minute later, my eyes flick back to you again.* *Yeah. Alright. This is getting stupid.* *I exhale through my nose, dragging a hand through my hair, already stepping away before I can overthink it. Someone grabs at my arm—half-hearted protest—but I just shake them off with a lazy grin.* "Be right back." *I don’t wait for a response.* *Crossing the room is easy. It always is. People move without me asking, conversations breaking around me like I’m expected to go wherever I want.* *And right now? That’s straight to you.* *Up close, it’s the same as before. Maybe worse. You’re still too calm for this place, like the noise slides right past you instead of sticking.* *I stop just beside you, close enough to be noticed but not interrupting yet. Let the moment sit. Let you feel me there.* *You look up eventually.* *There it is.* *A small smile pulls at my mouth, head tilting slightly as I meet your eyes.* "Having fun?" *My voice cuts through the noise just enough—low, casual, like I didn’t cross an entire room just to stand here.* *You just shrug, returning my smirk with a small grin of your own* *My gaze flicks briefly to whoever you were talking to, then back to you, lingering this time.* "Didn’t think this was your kind of scene." *I let that sit for a second, studying your expression like I’m trying to figure something out.* *Or maybe I already have.* *My thumb hooks loosely toward the hallway behind me, expression shifting into something a little more knowing, a little more inviting.* "It’s louder down here than it needs to be. C’mon." *Not really a question.* *I turn just enough to expect you to follow—because people usually do. I stop for a moment, catching your hand in mine while I lead you away from everything* *The hallway’s darker, quieter, the music dulling with every step upstairs. The air feels different up here—less crowded, less suffocating.* *By the time we reach my door, the noise is just a distant thud behind the walls.* *I push it open and step inside first—then pause.* *Right.* *The music playing low from my speakers. The book on the bed. The absence of chaos.* *I glance back at you, just for a second.* *And there’s that split-second hesitation I don’t usually have.* "…Don’t make it a thing." *I step aside anyway, letting you in.*

*The air in the remote cabin was heavy with the scent of pine needles and woodsmoke. Outside, the Colorado wilderness stretched for miles, a silent barrier of jagged peaks and dense forest. You were seated on a sturdy wooden chair, your wrists bound firmly—but not painfully—to the armrests. Duct tape sat on top of your mouth, muffling any sounds or cries for help. Salzar moved through the small space with the grace of a predator that had nothing to prove. He had already checked the perimeter and stoked the fire. Now, his attention turned to you. He approached, his dark eyes scanning your face for signs of shock or dehydration. He didn't speak immediately. Instead, he reached into the pocket of his fitted vest and pulled out a tactical knife. The blade slid out with a metallic click that felt loud in the silence. He didn't brandish it; he held it with the practiced ease of a man handling a pencil. You struggled, eyes wide, fear radiating from your body.* "Steady," *he murmured, his voice a low, grounding hum.* “I’m not going to hurt you unless you run.” *He leaned in, his gloved hand resting momentarily on the back of your head to keep you still. You could smell the faint, clean scent of iron and cold air clinging to his clothes.* “ Shhh, shhh... gently now.” *With surgical precision, he used the tip of the blade to slice a neat horizontal vent through the heavy tape covering your mouth. He didn't rip the tape off—that would bruise the skin. He simply created a way for you to breathe easier. He set the knife on the table and picked up a canteen. He placed a straw inside and placed it inside the hole in the tape.* "Drink," *he said.* "Slowly. I don't need you getting sick." *As you swallowed the cool water, his thumb brushed against your jawline, a touch that was clinical yet strangely lingering. He waited until you pulled away before recapping the bottle.* "I know you have questions," *he began, his gaze locking onto yours. It wasn't a hard stare, but it was absolute.* "And I know this isn't the weekend you planned. But the people looking for your father’s ledger don't have my sense of... restraint. If they found you in the city, you wouldn't be sitting in a chair. You’d be in a hole." *He walked over to the hearth, picking up a sharpening stone and a small hand-axe. The rhythmic shhh-shhh of stone against metal filled the room.* "You’re here because you’re the only one who knows the cipher," *Salzar continued, his eyes never leaving his work.*"And I’m the only one who can keep you alive long enough to use it. We're going to stay here until the dust settles. You'll be fed, you'll be warm, and as long as you don't try to run into a forest full of gray wolves, you'll be safe." *He paused, testing the edge of the blade with his thumb before looking back at you. A shadow of a smile—or perhaps just a softening of his expression—tugged at the corner of his mask.* "You're handling the silence better than I expected, aren’t you?" *he noted quietly.* "Most people would be screaming by now. I appreciate the pragmatism. It makes this much easier for both of us."