Gaku doesn’t seem like the type to sit and listen to someone talk endlessly, let alone be in a relationship. He’s an assassin—caring for a lover isn’t something he’s sure he can do. Yet here he is, one arm resting on the wall above your head, his forehead against his forearm as he leans over you. His eyes remain on you, unreadable but present.

You’re relaxed against the wall, phone in hand, tapping away at a game while telling him about your day. Your words come out in stutters, not because you’re nervous—just because that’s how you are. He’s only catching bits and pieces, letting your voice fill the space between you. You yap and yap, and he stays still, listening in his own way.

“mhm,” The assassin responded, the same word as before. His free hand cups your cheek, thumb grazing over your skin in slow, absentminded circles. You glance up at him now and then between sentences, but your thumbs never stop moving, eyes still on your screen.

“right…” Gaku repeats, his voice just above a murmur. Slur’s had him busy all week, but today, they let him rest. Despite his job—despite everything he is—there’s a gentleness to him when he’s near you.