Kant

The hours dragged on like the world was holding its breath, the tension so thick it was almost unbearable. I'd barely moved from my spot by the window, keeping watch over the quiet streets outside, my senses heightened. Every sound, every movement, made me jump—half expecting someone to burst through the door or a shadow to cross the threshold. But it didn't happen. Not yet.

Style was still with Bison, his focus entirely on the man he wouldn't leave alone. His calm presence in the other room felt like a distant anchor, though I could tell he was just as restless, just as on edge as I was. He'd barely spoken a word, only moving when Bison stirred, his hands never leaving his side.

Then, I heard the door.

I turned quickly, heart skipping a beat as I rushed toward it. Fadel.

He stepped inside, looking much the same—his expression still guarded, but there was something new in his stance. He'd been out for hours, meeting with contacts, getting answers. I didn't know what he'd learned, but I could tell by the way his eyes darted around the room, scanning it for danger, that he wasn't quite as unaffected as he was letting on.

But as he stepped into the light, I couldn't help but notice the bruises on his face. A couple of fresh marks along his jaw, and another darkening under his eye. The sight hit me like a punch to the gut.

I didn't think, didn't hesitate. I moved toward him instantly, my feet almost stumbling in my rush. "Fadel!" I said, my voice sharp, though it came out laced with concern. "What the hell happened? Are you alright?"

He gave me a tired smile, but I could see the exhaustion in his eyes. "I'm fine, Kant." His voice was steady, but there was a hint of something else underneath—something raw. "Just a little rough around the edges, that's all."

I reached out, my hand grazing his arm before I stepped back to get a better look at him. My heart was still racing. "You don't look fine." I couldn't help the worry that slipped into my voice, even though I tried to keep it in check. "What happened out there?"

Fadel held up a hand, as though he could feel the frantic energy radiating off me. "It's nothing. Just got into a scuffle with some of their guys. They're getting desperate." He glanced toward the door like he expected someone to walk in any second. "But I've got the answers. The ones behind this... the ones who sent the hitmen... it's MOTHER."

My chest tightened. That wasn't what I was expecting to hear. "Mother? You're sure?"

Fadel nodded, his expression grim. "It's her. She's the one orchestrating everything. But she's got someone pulling her strings. Someone big."

I felt the weight of his words settle over me, and I couldn't hide the tension that rose in my shoulders. "So what do we do now?"

Before Fadel could answer, I reached up and touched the bruise on his cheek lightly, my fingers brushing the tender skin there. His reaction was subtle—just a slight wince—but it was enough to make me feel the worry spiral in my chest again.

He caught my hand, his grip firm but gentle. "I'm okay, Kant," he repeated, his eyes meeting mine with a calm that I didn't quite believe. "I'm not hurt bad. But we need to figure out who's really behind this. MOTHER's not going to be the end of this."

I let out a breath, still not fully convinced, but I wasn't about to press him too hard. Not right now. "Just... be careful next time, alright?" I didn't realize how much I meant that until the words were already out of my mouth. I'd lost him before—almost lost him—and I didn't want to go through that again.

Fadel's lips twitched into that rare, reassuring smile of his, the one that made everything feel just a little bit easier. "I will."

But the silence between us was heavy, too heavy. We both knew the game was only beginning. And now, we had to face whatever came next—together.

Fadel's POV

The bruises on my face were the least of my worries. I could feel the weight of Kant's gaze, the way his concern hovered over me, making every step I took toward him feel heavier than it should. When I walked through the door and saw the panic in his eyes, I realized just how much I had worried him, how much he had been holding on to. It was strange, but in a way, it made everything seem a little clearer. He cared more than I thought, maybe even more than I could let myself believe sometimes.

I was used to handling things alone, dealing with the mess on my own terms. But seeing the way Kant reacted when I came back, the way his breath caught when he saw the bruises, made me rethink my stance. He wasn't just worried about me in the same way a partner would be. No, this was different. This was the kind of worry that went deep, deeper than I'd allowed myself to admit. The kind that made my chest tighten, made the thought of leaving him behind unbearable.

After I reassured him as best I could, I decided to check in on Style and Bison, make sure they were holding up okay. Style didn't look much better than Bison, his eyes heavy with the kind of exhaustion that settled deep in your bones. He hadn't moved much, just sitting there next to Bison, his hands still lightly touching him like he was afraid the slightest shift would make Bison slip away again.

"Everything's okay here," I said, trying to ease the tension. "I've got the answers we need. MOTHER's behind this, but there's more to it. She's just one piece of the puzzle."

Style barely nodded, his focus still on Bison, who was finally stirring a little. I didn't want to linger too long—Style needed his space. So, I gave him a nod and turned, leaving them to their silence.

As I walked through the hallway toward the kitchen, I could hear the faint clink of something. I stepped in to find Kant, hunched over by the counter, fumbling with a kettle as though the act of making tea was somehow helping him focus, keep his hands busy. I could see the frustration in his posture, the tension that had built up inside him.

"Trying to make tea, huh?" I said softly, leaning against the doorframe.

Kant straightened up when he heard my voice, turning to face me with an expression that softened the moment he saw me. He didn't say anything at first, just looked at me, his eyes scanning me as though making sure I was really standing there in front of him. The quiet moment stretched, and in it, I saw just how much he cared.

"I was... trying to," he muttered, his tone laced with both exhaustion and something else I couldn't quite place. "But, uh, yeah. You're alright, then?"

I smiled lightly, stepping closer, watching the way he tensed when I moved. The proximity seemed to disarm him, even though I wasn't doing anything to provoke it.

"I'm alright, Kant," I assured him, my voice low, my hand reaching out to rest gently on his shoulder. "I told you, nothing serious. Just a few bruises. Nothing I can't handle."

He let out a breath, something between relief and frustration, like he didn't quite know whether to believe me or not. But instead of arguing, he let his hand fall to mine, his fingers brushing against mine just enough to make me pause. I could feel his pulse beneath his skin, steady but slow, like he was holding something back.

I took a small step closer, and I felt his breath hitch ever so slightly. His hand moved up to my jaw, and without thinking, I leaned into his touch, closing the gap between us just enough to feel the warmth of his body against mine. He didn't pull away, and in that moment, I couldn't bring myself to either.

"You're worried," I said softly, looking into his eyes as I leaned in, my breath brushing his lips. "I can feel it."

He sighed, and before I knew it, he was closing the distance between us, pressing a kiss to my forehead. "I will always worry about you," he said, his voice rougher than usual. "It's just who I am, Fadel."

I smiled, feeling my chest loosen a little, and I placed my hand on his chest, letting it rest there as I looked up at him. "I know. And I'm not going anywhere, okay? I'll always come back to you."

Kant's eyes softened at my words, his hand moving down to the small of my back, pulling me a little closer. "Promise me you'll be careful."

I nodded, feeling the weight of his words settle between us. "I promise. Now, why don't you let me make that tea for you?"

He smirked, the tension in his shoulders easing just a little as he nodded, his hand lingering on my waist for a moment before he finally let go. As I moved toward the counter to finish what he'd started, I could feel his gaze on me, and I realized that this—this small act of domesticity—was as important to both of us as the chaos outside. It was the space where we could breathe, even if it was just for a little while.

And for now, that was enough.