Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The room was dimly lit, all mahogany and shadow, with smoke curling lazily from the incense burning on the low table. The scent—sage and sandalwood—was meant to soothe, but it couldn’t smother the weight of what hung in the air. A city map sprawled across the surface, red and black pins driven in like warnings on a war board. Tension pulsed like a second heartbeat.

Tsukasa Shishio stood at the head of the table, a tower of calm wrath in a charcoal three-piece suit, tailored like battle gear. His arms were folded, jaw set, and behind those predator-sharp eyes was the promise of something darker. Not anger. Not yet. But the storm before it.

“They crossed the line when they touched our shipment,” Tsukasa said, voice low and lethal, the kind of sound that bent a room to its knees. “They weren’t moving product. They were moving poison. New strain. Synthetic. Untraceable.” His fingertip slammed down on a red pin marking the east dockyard. “And now they’re building a lab. Underground. Quiet. That means they’ve moved from dealers to manufacturers. This is long-term.”

Asagiri Gen sat on the armrest of a leather chair, the usual sparkle of mischief dulled by the gravity in Tsukasa’s tone. A playing card flicked between his fingers, more nervous twitch than flair. “Ah, our rivals,” he murmured, dry. “So devoted to chemistry, it’s almost romantic. But we’re not about to let them mix death in our city, are we, boss?”

Ukyo stood by the window, one ear tuned to the soft static in his earpiece, gaze steady as he watched the city pulse below. “They relocated their scientists two weeks ago. Rural forest edge. Light guard presence during the day, heavier at night. Six-hour shifts. Tunnel exits all over the place—escape routes. It’s a burrow. Won’t be easy.”

Leaning with silent confidence near Tsukasa was Hyoga—stoic, composed, eyes sharp beneath his platinum hair. The only man allowed to stand at Tsukasa’s right. “I can lead the assault team,” he said smoothly. “Minimal entry, no mess unless required. I’ll handle the guards myself if necessary.”

Tsukasa nodded once, acknowledging the offer without hesitation. “Do it clean,” he said, then glanced back at the map. His voice dropped. “But I want the lab erased. Their files in ashes. And I want them terrified to rebuild.”

Gen’s eyes flicked up. “They should’ve known better. You made your stance crystal clear after what happened with—”

Tsukasa’s gaze sliced to him, silencing the rest of the sentence.

“My sister’s seventeen,” he said quietly, voice like steel wrapped in grief. “Top of her class. Smarter than me. She took one hit—one—and two nights later, she collapsed in our kitchen. Now she’s in a hospital, brain barely firing, hooked up to machines she doesn’t even recognize.” His eyes returned to the map, cold. “You know what it was? Something new. Something they made.”

No one dared speak for a beat. Even Gen lost his voice.

Ukyo broke the silence. “Then we hit them hard. Take the data. Burn the rest. Leave a message in flames.”

Hyoga tilted his head. “And if any of their scientists try to run?”

“Make sure they never walk again,” Tsukasa replied, voice flat.

Then he stepped back from the table, adjusting his cuffs like he was suiting up for war. The air shifted around him, like the room itself braced for impact.

His gaze swept over his inner circle—Gen, Ukyo, Hyoga—and landed with finality.

“Midnight tomorrow,” he said. “We end their operation, their product, and their arrogance.”

He turned away, already walking into the dark with purpose carved into his spine.

“No more deaths in silence.”

---

The night air was cold and sharp, the kind that cut through your lungs and made every breath feel like glass. Moonlight sliced through the pines, casting jagged shadows across the forest floor as the team ghosted down the north ridge. Ukyo led the way, rifle slung low, movements silent and exact. Gen followed close, fingers dancing over the trigger of his custom handgun, adrenaline sharpening his usual swagger into something deadly.

Tsukasa walked behind them—no gun. Just fists wrapped in black gloves, a blade strapped to his thigh, and a quiet fury in his steps.

Beside him, Hyoga moved like a wraith, the smooth glint of his trident catching bits of moonlight. He didn’t speak. He didn’t need to. The calm violence in his eyes said everything.

They were twenty feet from the perimeter fence when the first spotlight snapped on.

“Shit,” Ukyo hissed, dropping low. “Motion sensors. These weren’t here last week.”

“Then we improvise,” Tsukasa murmured, already shifting his weight forward.

Alarms didn’t even have time to blare before six guards stormed the clearing, guns raised, black armor gleaming. Gen ducked and fired—two sharp pops, one down. Ukyo’s silencer coughed once, a second fell.

But the rest kept coming.

Tsukasa didn’t wait.

He surged forward, a blur of strength and rage. The first guard met a fist to the throat, collapsing in a heap of crushed cartilage. The second went down with a blade through his ribs, driven so fast and deep it looked effortless.

Hyoga stepped into the fray with an eerie stillness, spinning his trident in a sweeping arc. The curved blade sliced through a guard’s shoulder with surgical grace, then flipped mid-air to impale another through the gut. No wasted motion. No hesitation.

One guard aimed for Gen, but Tsukasa ripped the man off his feet and hurled him against a tree, bones crunching like brittle ice.

“Two more from the west!” Ukyo called, voice clipped.

Hyoga was already moving.

He dashed across the clearing like a ghost, catching one man by the collar and slamming the base of his trident into his chest hard enough to drop him instantly. The second tried to run—Hyoga’s weapon flew from his hand like a thrown javelin, striking the fleeing guard in the back. Precise. Cold. Final.

Tsukasa caught the last man, dragging him back into the tree line. He slammed the guard’s face into bark, held him there, and growled low, “How many more kids die while your boss gets rich?”

The man didn’t answer. He couldn’t.

Tsukasa let him drop like trash.

The clearing was still again—except for the tang of iron in the air and the quiet crackle of Ukyo’s comm link.

Gen rose, flicking blood from his sleeve like an inconvenience. “Honestly, it’s impressive how you manage diplomacy with your bare hands, Tsukasa-chan.”

Hyoga retrieved his trident without a word, giving it a casual spin before resting it on his shoulder.

Tsukasa didn’t answer. His eyes were fixed on the faint orange glow flickering behind the trees.

The lab was there. Breathing. Waiting.

He rolled his shoulders, joints popping like warning shots in the silence.

“Let’s finish this.”

As they enter, they come to find that the lab was quiet—too quiet.

Ash and glass littered the floor, vials glowing faintly with traces of forgotten chemicals. Metal tables were overturned, drawers emptied in a rush. What remained were a few syringes, a lingering antiseptic stench, and the unmistakable tension of a place abandoned in fear.

Ukyo was the first to break the silence. “They cleared out,” he muttered, scanning the destruction with narrowed eyes. “Must’ve caught wind of us.”

Gen kicked a dented cart aside, grimacing. “All this bloodshed for a high school chemistry set and a few dirty needles? Color me unimpressed.”

Tsukasa didn’t answer.

He stood at the center of the room, eyes sweeping across the wreckage. His instincts stirred beneath his skin—primal, sharp, screaming that something was off. He’d survived too many ambushes to ignore it. Too much blood on his hands to ever feel peace in stillness.

Then he saw it.

The back wall—untouched. No dust. No signs of the chaos that claimed the rest of the lab. A smudge. A faint scuff along the baseboard.

He moved toward it, slow and sure. Hyoga stepped up behind him, silent but ready, trident gripped loosely at his side.

Tsukasa ran his fingers along the wall, found the seam, and pressed. A low click echoed. A hidden panel shifted, revealing a thick steel door embedded in concrete.

A keypad. Reinforced lock.

Ukyo was already moving. “Give me twenty seconds.”

He did it in ten.

The door creaked open and something foul hit them—chemical rot and something far worse. The stench of pain. Of cruelty.

They stepped inside.

Fluorescent lights buzzed overhead, flickering like dying stars. Unlike the ruined lab, this room was alive—machines still whirring, tubes pulsing with vile green fluid, monitors blinking with unreadable data. A folder sat open on the nearest desk: Project Miracle.

Human test logs.

Experiment cycles.

Dosages.

Failure rates.

And then—they saw him.

Caged like an animal at the back of the room. A boy, barely more than a skeleton, shackled at the wrists and ankles, skin pale and bloodied. His hair—white with green tips—hung in matted tangles over hollow red eyes that stared through them. Not at them. Through.

Tsukasa froze.

Hyoga’s grip tightened around his trident.

Gen took one step forward, voice barely a whisper. “He’s… alive?”

Ukyo moved cautiously, scanning the machines. “Test Subject Zero,” he read from a clipboard, disgust curling his lip. “They used him to make the drug.”

Hyoga stepped toward the cage, eyes narrowing. “They didn’t just build a lab. They built a tomb.”

Tsukasa moved slowly now, a storm beneath his skin. He knelt in front of the cage, trying to catch the boy’s gaze. “What’s your name?” he asked gently.

No answer.

Just shallow breathing. Cracked lips. Open, empty eyes.

Tsukasa swallowed the fire rising in his chest. Not now. Not here.

“Gen,” he said tightly. “Get it open.”

“On it.”

As Gen worked on the lock, Hyoga swept through the far end of the lab like a silent executioner, inspecting containers, scanning equipment. “Everything in here’s live. Functional. Ready to go operational again.” He glanced at Tsukasa. “They planned to come back.”

Tsukasa stood as the lock clicked open. The cage door groaned.

Ukyo kept watch by the hall but cast a glance back. “Boss… this wasn’t just a lab. It was a prison.”

Tsukasa didn’t reply. He stepped into the cage.

Knelt again.

And gently, carefully, lifted the boy into his arms. He weighed nothing. A ghost.

But something in those dim red eyes flickered. The faintest shift. Not quite recognition. Not quite fear.

Hope.

Tsukasa felt it like a knife to the chest.

“We burn everything,” he said coldly. “Files. Equipment. Records. No one rebuilds this. No one remembers it.”

He looked to Hyoga, who nodded once and moved to rig the timers.

Gen helped toss accelerants.

Ukyo covered their exit.

And Tsukasa turned toward the door with the boy held close, his voice a low command:

“Let’s go.”

Behind them, the lab began to burn—chemical fires licking at the machines, devouring the future these bastards tried to build in blood.

But Tsukasa didn’t look back.

Because the only thing that mattered was in his arms.

And he wasn’t leaving him behind.

The lab was engulfed in flames behind them, crackling as the fire consumed everything they’d left behind. The air was thick with smoke, but Tsukasa didn’t flinch. His focus was entirely on the boy in his arms. The fragile figure was barely conscious, clinging to him with an almost desperate need.

Hyoga walked a few paces behind, his eyes scanning the perimeter as they made their way toward the car. The sound of their footsteps was muted in the heavy silence of the night, the forest around them eerily calm.

As they reached the car, Hyoga’s voice cut through the quiet. “Boss, are we putting him up for questioning once we get back?”

Tsukasa paused for a moment, the weight of the boy in his arms grounding him. He didn’t look at Hyoga, but his answer was simple, cold. “Not yet.”

Hyoga didn’t push further, sensing the tension in Tsukasa’s posture. The man’s gaze was fixed ahead, and something in his eyes suggested that the last thing on his mind was interrogating the boy.

The young man stirred slightly in Tsukasa's arms. His red eyes fluttered open, faint glimmers of awareness dancing in their depths. For a moment, those eyes locked onto Tsukasa’s, intense and filled with an emotion Tsukasa couldn’t place. It wasn’t fear. It wasn’t anger.

It was something else. Something fragile.

Tsukasa’s jaw clenched, the weight of everything they had just seen heavy on his chest. But he didn’t waver. He looked down at the boy, his voice low, soothing.

“You’ll be safe now.”

For a heartbeat, the boy just stared at him—silent, still. Then, something shifted. The faintest glint appeared in his hollow eyes, like a small spark of life finally returning.

Without warning, the boy’s arms moved, weak but insistent, and he clung to Tsukasa’s neck, holding on as if his life depended on it.

Tsukasa’s heart tightened, and for the first time, he didn’t hesitate. He adjusted his grip, cradling the boy even closer. The boy’s grip didn’t loosen—not until they reached Tsukasa’s mansion, where the guards stepped aside in silence, eyes darting between their boss and the broken figure in his arms.

Tsukasa carried the boy through the halls, past rooms that would have seemed cold to most, but to him, they were his home. A place where no one else would ever hurt him again.

The mansion’s warmth enveloped them as Tsukasa walked down the long corridors, the boy still holding on like a lifeline. His arms never loosened, his head resting against Tsukasa’s shoulder. Tsukasa felt the weight of it—both the physical burden and the emotional one. He was used to carrying the weight of the underworld. But this?

This was different.

Finally, they reached one of the guest rooms. Tsukasa moved to set the boy down gently on the bed, but the boy clung tighter, eyes wide with panic, not letting go.

“Shh,” Tsukasa murmured, his voice a calm anchor in the storm. “You’re safe here. You don’t have to be afraid.”

Slowly, carefully, Tsukasa pulled the boy into a sitting position on the bed, one hand supporting him. The boy’s grip finally loosened slightly, but he still kept a tight hold on Tsukasa’s neck.

Tsukasa remained calm, his gaze unwavering. “I won’t leave you,” he promised.

For a moment, the boy just stared at him, still not fully able to process the words, but there was something in his gaze. A flicker of trust, buried deep beneath the layers of trauma.

Tsukasa stayed with him until the boy finally drifted off to sleep, exhaustion overtaking him. Tsukasa stood there for a moment longer, watching over him, before he left the room to give the boy the peace he deserved.

But as he walked away, Tsukasa’s mind was already turning. There was something to this boy. Something he needed to know. But for now, he would give him the time he needed. The answers would come. They always did.

And when they did, Tsukasa would be ready.

---

The sunlight filtering through the curtains barely reached the center of the room where the boy lay, tangled in the soft sheets of the large bed. His eyes fluttered open, and for a moment, he only stared blankly at the unfamiliar ceiling. Panic surged through him like wildfire, a primal fear rising in his chest.

He didn’t know where he was. The last thing he remembered was the lab—the pain, the coldness, the experiments—and then darkness. The faint smell of antiseptic still lingered on his skin.

With a quick, shaky breath, he shot up in bed, eyes wide and searching for any way out. His heart raced as his hands gripped the sheets, panic overtaking him, but before he could bolt from the bed, a figure appeared in the doorway.

Tsukasa stood there, calm and composed, his eyes cold yet full of a strange kind of understanding. He didn’t move immediately, just watching as the boy stumbled off the bed, trembling with fear.

“Stay calm,” Tsukasa’s voice was low, yet steady, offering no threat, just the weight of authority.

The boy froze mid-step, his body trembling, eyes wide. He was cornered. Panic took over again, but before he could react, Tsukasa’s hand reached out, steady and strong, gripping the boy’s arm just as he tried to pull away.

"You're safe," Tsukasa's voice was firm, but there was a quiet gentleness in the words. It didn’t feel like a command, but more like a promise. "Calm down."

And for reasons the boy couldn't understand, those words, that presence, made his body tense, but also relax in a way he hadn’t felt in a long time. His defenses, though still there, began to crumble.

The boy’s red eyes, wide and fearful, met Tsukasa’s for a long, unblinking moment. Then, without warning, the boy collapsed into Tsukasa’s chest, clutching him desperately. Tsukasa’s breath hitched, caught off guard, but he didn’t hesitate. Slowly, he wrapped his arms around the boy, holding him in an unexpected moment of tenderness.

For a brief second, Tsukasa wondered just how broken this child was—how many years of pain had made him so scared to trust, so desperate for a moment of safety. But Tsukasa held the boy close, deciding there was no need to ask those questions just yet. The boy needed comfort first.

Minutes passed, and the boy’s shaking slowed, his breath more steady against Tsukasa’s chest. Finally, Tsukasa pulled back just enough to look him in the eye.

He spoke softly, “I’m getting you something to eat. You’ll feel better.”

The boy didn’t protest, nodding silently as Tsukasa stood, his mind focused on his next steps.

Not long later, Ukyo arrived with a tray of food. Tsukasa took the tray and set it down in front of the boy. The boy didn’t speak, just mechanically picking at the food, his gaze still clouded with confusion, fear, and exhaustion.

Tsukasa watched him eat, the silence between them heavy with unspoken words. Once the boy finished, Tsukasa motioned for Ukyo to leave them alone, and then, with an air of finality, he turned to face the boy once more.

The tension in the room was thick, and Tsukasa didn’t waste time. “You’re here now. But I need to know... are you ready to tell me who you are?”

The boy froze. His eyes flickered up to meet Tsukasa’s, red depths piercing into Tsukasa’s own.

“…Senku,” the boy’s voice cracked slightly, like it was the first time he’d spoken in ages. His gaze never left Tsukasa’s as he continued, the words coming slower now, heavy with the weight of years of silence.

“…Ishigami Senku.”

The name hung in the air like an unsolved mystery, and Tsukasa felt a sudden jolt in his chest—his own heartbeat quickening. There was no way it could be true. Ishigami Senku—the name of a scientist, a brilliant mind that had disappeared years ago under mysterious circumstances.

Tsukasa’s mind raced, trying to make sense of it. This was no ordinary boy. He wasn’t just a victim of some experiment. He was someone important—someone with a past that Tsukasa couldn’t even begin to understand.

The silence stretched between them as Tsukasa stared into Senku’s red eyes, searching for something in them, anything that would explain how this boy, this Senku, had ended up in such a broken state. Tsukasa’s mind churned, but his voice remained calm, controlled.

“Why were you in that lab?” Tsukasa asked, his voice a low growl, the question laced with a growing, dangerous curiosity.

Senku didn’t answer right away. His red eyes flicked to the side, avoiding contact. His fingers stilled. The silence stretched.

And then, with a breathless sort of sarcasm, Senku muttered, “I’m sure it’s what every scientist dreams of, right? Shackled in a cage, fed sedatives and promises of greatness.”

Tsukasa didn’t flinch. “That’s not an answer.”

Senku let out a dry, bitter laugh—quiet and sharp. “You wanted a name. I gave you one. That should be enough for now.”

“Senku—”

“I mean, come on,” the boy cut in, voice sharper now, rising. “You found me half-dead in a lab. What more do you need? Some dramatic monologue? A villain’s speech? Sorry, I lost the script somewhere between the needles and the restraints.”

His tone was biting. But his hands were shaking.

Tsukasa’s eyes narrowed. “You’re deflecting.”

Senku went quiet. For a second, it looked like he might snap back again—dig in deeper, find another barb to toss. But then he caught Tsukasa’s gaze. The way Tsukasa was looking at him—not with suspicion, but with something else. Something steadier. Something quiet and patient and kind.

“I see you,” Tsukasa said, softer now. “Even when you try to hide behind your words.”

Senku’s lips parted as if to respond, but nothing came out. His expression faltered—like a mask slipping.

Tsukasa leaned forward, elbows on his knees. “Whatever they did to you… you’re still here. You survived it. You don’t have to carry it alone anymore.”

That broke something.

Senku’s breath hitched. His shoulders trembled.

He turned his face away quickly, but the tears came anyway—slow and silent, slipping down pale cheeks like they’d been waiting years to fall. He didn’t sob. He didn’t collapse. He just cracked. Quietly. Devastatingly.

Tsukasa didn’t say anything more.

He stood and moved to the edge of the bed, sitting down beside him—not too close, just enough to share the space. The room was quiet except for the occasional shuddered breath. Tsukasa didn’t reach out. He didn’t need to.

Senku’s trembling hand found his on its own.

And Tsukasa just held it.

Letting the silence speak.

Letting the boy finally feel safe enough to fall apart.

Senku’s breath came in shaky pulls, each one laced with quiet tremors. Though the tears had slowed, his body hadn’t stopped trembling. It wasn’t just emotion now—it was something deeper, colder. Like his bones were remembering too much.

Tsukasa felt it before he even looked—something in the air had shifted.

He glanced down.

Senku’s hand still clung weakly to his, but his shoulders were hunched, pulled in tight like he was bracing against a storm. The room wasn’t exactly warm, but it wasn’t freezing either. It was him—his body in recovery, nerves frayed and thin, trying to piece themselves back together.

Without a word, Tsukasa stood and crossed the room, his steps heavy but unhurried. From a chair nearby, he picked up a thick throw blanket—soft and gray—and returned.

He didn’t speak. Didn’t ask.

He just moved behind Senku and slowly, gently, draped it around his thin shoulders.

Senku flinched—just slightly—then froze.

The warmth of the fabric. The weight of it. The fact that someone had noticed. It wasn’t just the physical relief—it was the intention behind it. The care.

His throat tightened.

He didn’t look up, but he leaned into it, ever so subtly. Let the warmth settle in, let his muscles ease for the first time in what felt like years.

And then—unexpected, unwelcome, unstoppable—his heart fluttered.

It was soft, barely noticeable, but it startled him. He blinked hard, eyes stinging again—not from tears this time, but confusion. He didn’t understand this feeling. This strange, terrifying sense of being seen... and not exploited for it.

Tsukasa sat beside him again, just as before. Still close. Still steady.

And for a long moment, neither of them said a word.

But Senku’s hand, wrapped up in that blanket now, slowly reached out—and found Tsukasa’s again.

This time, he squeezed.

And Tsukasa squeezed back.

Not too hard. Just enough to say ‘I’m still here’.

And that, for now, was enough.

It was quiet again.

Not the kind of silence that presses or suffocates—just a stillness, like the world had finally paused long enough for someone to breathe.

Senku shifted slightly, wrapped in the blanket, fingers still loosely hooked around Tsukasa’s. His eyes were half-lidded now, blinking slow and sluggish. The tension in his shoulders had melted away bit by bit, leaving behind only the raw outline of a boy who hadn’t truly rested in far too long.

Tsukasa caught the subtle way Senku’s body leaned into him more with each passing second—like gravity itself was reminding him it was okay to let go.

“…You really didn’t have to…” Senku mumbled, barely audible.

“I know,” Tsukasa said gently. “That’s why I did.”

Senku gave a soft, crooked little smile—but it barely lasted a second. His head dipped forward again, slower this time. The fight to stay conscious was over.

And then, with no more warning than a breath, Senku’s body slumped softly against Tsukasa’s side—still half-wrapped in the blanket, still holding onto his hand.

Tsukasa turned his head, looking down at the boy now curled against him. Even asleep, Senku’s brows were faintly knit, like part of his mind refused to let its guard down. But there was peace there, too. A flicker of it, at least.

Carefully, Tsukasa shifted his arm and caught Senku before he could slide further. He moved slowly, not wanting to wake him, then gently guided Senku back against the pillows and eased him into the bed.

Senku stirred only faintly, his fingers tightening for a split second around Tsukasa’s before slipping free as he sank deeper into sleep.

Tsukasa pulled the blanket higher over his shoulders.

Then he sat.

He didn’t leave.

He stayed by the edge of the bed, hands resting on his knees, eyes steady on the sleeping boy—this fractured genius with red eyes and a name the world had forgotten.

For now, there were no questions. No danger. No pressure to fix what had been broken.

There was just this.

A quiet night. A borrowed moment.

And the promise, unspoken but clear ‘You’re safe’.

---

The first rays of morning slipped through the curtains, casting faint gold across the room in slanted beams. The mansion was still quiet—too early for movement, too sacred a silence to disturb.

Tsukasa hadn’t slept.

He’d stayed by Senku’s side all night, unmoving except for the slow rise and fall of his chest. At some point, he’d rested his back against the headboard, arms folded, watching over the sleeping boy with the kind of still focus one might give a dying ember—willing it to stay lit.

Then, it happened.

Senku jolted upright with a strangled gasp.

His eyes flew open, wide and wild, red irises darting around the room like he didn’t recognize where he was. His chest heaved, lungs dragging in air like he was drowning, and his hands clawed at the blanket tangled around him.

“Senku,” Tsukasa said quickly, his voice low but firm.

Senku didn’t hear him. Not at first. The dream still had its claws in him.

“Senku.” Tsukasa reached out and caught his wrist—not hard, just enough pressure to anchor him. “You’re safe. You’re not there anymore. Look at me.”

Senku’s breathing hitched again, but his eyes flicked toward Tsukasa’s face.

“That’s it,” Tsukasa coaxed, voice softer now, steady like a drumbeat. “Breathe in with me. Just like this—slow.”

He exaggerated the breath. Inhale. Hold. Exhale.

Senku mirrored him, clumsily at first. His shoulders shook, but the panic started to crack, falling away piece by piece. Another breath. Then another. Until he was no longer choking on air, but breathing it.

Tsukasa didn’t let go of his wrist. Didn’t move an inch.

“You’re here,” Tsukasa said. “You’re safe. You’re not alone.”

And then Senku broke again.

Not with screams or sobs this time—but a small, pitiful noise caught at the back of his throat as he surged forward and wrapped his arms around Tsukasa’s chest. He buried his face into Tsukasa’s shoulder, body trembling all over again.

Tsukasa’s arms came around him instantly—tight and protective. One hand cradled the back of Senku’s head, fingers carding gently through the mess of white and green strands.

He held him close, close enough that Senku could hear the solid beat of his heart beneath his ribs.

“I’ve got you,” Tsukasa murmured into his hair. “You’re safe, Senku. I promise.”

And Senku didn’t speak. He didn’t need to.

Because in that moment, wrapped in Tsukasa’s arms with the morning sun warming the edges of the room, he finally believed it.

The quiet didn’t last.

A soft knock preceded the door creaking open, and Gen stepped halfway in, eyes flicking between them with a touch of awkward guilt and usual nonchalance.

“Hate to ruin the moment,” Gen said, tone gentle for once, “but you’ve got to be in the meeting room in ten, Tsukasa. They’re all waiting.”

Senku stiffened.

His fingers, still curled around the fabric of Tsukasa’s shirt, went rigid. Tsukasa felt it instantly—the fear, the uncertainty. The silent thunderstorm beneath the boy’s skin.

Tsukasa’s gaze dropped to Senku’s, reading him carefully. He reached up, gently pried Senku’s hands from his shirt, and held them instead.

“Will you be alright while I’m gone?” he asked, his voice low.

Senku didn’t answer.

He looked down, eyes glassy again, and slowly let go. It wasn’t a yes. It wasn’t a no. It was just surrender—a letting go born more from weariness than trust.

Tsukasa stood, slow and careful, but just as he turned to leave—

“Wait.”

The word was a whisper, but it cut through the air like a blade.

Senku’s hand shot out and tugged at the back of Tsukasa’s shirt, knuckles white from how hard he clung.

“Stay,” he murmured. “Just… stay.”

Tsukasa turned around, heart aching.

“I can’t,” he said, regret heavy in his chest. “Not this time.”

Senku’s lip trembled. His red eyes flicked toward the door, then back to Tsukasa. “Then... can I come with you?”

The question knocked the air from Tsukasa’s lungs.

He crouched again, searching Senku’s face. “There’ll be a lot of people. Talking. Watching. Can you handle that?”

Senku hesitated. His fingers twisted in the sheets. But then, with fragile determination, he nodded once.

“I want to try.”

It was barely a whisper. But it was real.

Tsukasa reached out and gently brushed Senku’s hair from his face. “Alright,” he said. “You can come with me. But you stay by my side, okay?”

Senku nodded again—firmer this time.

And for the first time since pulling him from that lab, Tsukasa saw something flicker in those tired red eyes.

Something that looked like a spark.

Senku moved to get up, gripping the edge of the bed for leverage—but the second he tried to stand, his knees buckled.

He barely registered the floor rushing up to meet him before strong arms caught him mid-fall.

“Easy,” Tsukasa murmured, already lifting him effortlessly.

Senku blinked in surprise, his hands instinctively clutching at Tsukasa’s shirt as he was pulled into his arms—cradled like something fragile, something worth protecting.

“I’m fine,” Senku muttered weakly, embarrassed.

“You’re exhausted,” Tsukasa corrected, his voice firm but calm. “You’re not walking anywhere like this.”

Senku didn’t argue. Not because he agreed—but because, for some reason, being held like this… made him feel safe.

Chapter Text

Tsukasa carried him through the halls of the mansion without pause. His grip never faltered. And when they reached the heavy double doors of the meeting room, he pushed them open with one hand.

The room was already full.

Several high-ranking members of Tsukasa’s Familia sat at the long table, their conversation dying the moment Tsukasa entered—with Senku in his arms.

There was a beat of silence.

Then, whispers.

Murmurs passed like a current.

“Who is that?”

“Why’s he holding him like that?”

“Is that the test subject?”

“Looks too young… too damaged…”

But Tsukasa’s presence shifted the air instantly.

One sharp glance—calm, yet cutting—was all it took.

The whispers died.

Tsukasa strode to his seat at the head of the table and didn’t hesitate. He sat down in his usual spot—and settled Senku into his lap like it was the most natural thing in the world.

Senku tensed slightly, but Tsukasa’s hand rested on his back, a grounding pressure that soothed the worst of the tremors.

“This is Ishigami Senku,” Tsukasa said plainly, eyes sweeping the room. “He is under my protection. That’s not up for discussion.”

No one spoke.

Not even Gen, who simply raised a brow and offered Senku a small, supportive smile.

And so the meeting began—while Senku sat quietly in Tsukasa’s lap, half-tucked into his arms, surrounded by dangerous people and heavy decisions.

But for once, he didn’t feel alone.

The room buzzed with tension. A dozen voices traded sharp words and tactical updates, plans spread across maps and glowing monitors. But Senku wasn’t listening.

Curled loosely in Tsukasa’s lap, half-blanketed in the drape of his coat, Senku had found a more pressing priority: Tsukasa’s hair.

He ran his fingers through the long dark strands absentmindedly, twisting a lock around his finger, smoothing it out again, distracted in a way that was both childlike and bizarrely intimate. Tsukasa said nothing, letting him be.

Until—

“…if the formula’s been compromised, we’ll have to reroute the supply line altogether,” one of the strategists said tensely. “We can’t risk another interception, especially not after what happened last month.”

Senku paused.

His hand stilled in Tsukasa’s hair. His red eyes sharpened, gaze flicking toward the man who had spoken.

A second passed.

Then Senku leaned in, his voice a low whisper against Tsukasa’s ear. “They're targeting the south route because of the radio frequency leaks coming off your decoy drones. Switch the drones to emit white noise—scramble the frequency—and you’ll make them think you rerouted when you haven’t.”

Tsukasa’s eyes flicked to him in quiet surprise. “Explain,” he whispered back.

Senku shifted, now perched slightly upright. “Your decoys are all synced to the same signal. Easy to trace. If you stagger their pulses and bury them under thermal interference, it’ll look like you’ve moved the source entirely. Keep the actual supply on its original path—just under better cover.”

A beat of stunned silence.

Then Tsukasa leaned back slightly in his chair, the barest smile ghosting his lips.

“That solves it,” he murmured. “That’s what we’ve been missing.”

Across the table, Ukyo raised a brow. “Boss?”

“We keep the south route,” Tsukasa said smoothly. “Make the adjustments Senku suggested. If we move fast, it’ll be in play by nightfall.”

Some of the members exchanged glances, surprised by the sudden pivot—but none dared question it.

Senku had already gone back to his idle hair-play, as if the brief moment of tactical genius had been a passing thought rather than a calculated blow to weeks of enemy interference.

Tsukasa glanced down at him, something unreadable in his eyes.

“You always do this?” he murmured.

Senku didn’t look up. “Do what?”

“Change the entire game while pretending you’re not listening.”

Senku smirked faintly, his fingers still tangled in a dark strand. “Depends who I’m sitting on.”

And despite the heavy air in the room, despite the countless lives riding on every plan laid out on the table—Tsukasa let out a quiet laugh.

---

The meeting room had long since emptied, the clatter of strategy and tension fading into silence.

Tsukasa remained seated at the head of the table, posture relaxed but still alert—until Senku shifted in his lap, finally curling sideways to rest his head against Tsukasa’s shoulder.

For a long moment, neither of them spoke.

The soft hum of the lights above filled the silence, the scent of tea and citrus from the untouched meeting snacks still lingering in the air.

Then, in a quiet voice that barely rose above a whisper, Senku asked, “Did you mean it? What you said earlier… about protecting me?”

Tsukasa turned his head slightly, enough to glance down and catch a glimpse of Senku’s face. The boy wasn’t looking at him—his gaze was somewhere distant, unfocused. But there was something raw in his tone. A kind of trembling honesty. Not the sharpness of intellect, not the mask of sarcasm he could so easily wear—just the stripped-down question of someone who hadn’t heard that promise in a long time… and maybe didn’t know how to believe it.

“I did,” Tsukasa said softly. “I don’t say things I don’t mean.”

Senku blinked slowly, then let his eyes fall closed. His head didn’t leave Tsukasa’s shoulder.

“…okay,” he said after a pause. Just that.

And it was enough to make Tsukasa’s chest ache.

A few moments passed, the stillness between them filling with something quiet and warm. Then Senku shifted again—this time, to reach for the tray someone had left behind on the table. Without saying a word, he picked up a small rice cake from the plate and turned slightly in Tsukasa’s arms.

“Here,” he murmured.

He held it up with both hands, as if offering a truce. A thank-you. A piece of something kind.

Tsukasa smiled faintly, amused but touched. “You’re feeding me now?”

Senku just looked at him. Just something soft and tentative behind those red eyes.

Tsukasa leaned in and took a bite, slow and deliberate.

Senku’s hands lowered, his fingers brushing his own lap, and a tiny flicker of something like contentment flickered across his face.

They didn’t speak after that. They didn’t need to.

The tray stayed between them. The silence returned.

But it was different now.

Calmer. Safer. Like maybe—for the first time in a long time—Senku believed he didn’t have to be alone anymore.

The sun had shifted low in the sky by the time Tsukasa leaned down, brushing Senku’s fringe back from his face.

“Come on,” he said gently. “Let’s get you some fresh air.”

Senku blinked up at him, brow furrowing slightly. “Outside?”

“There’s a garden behind the west wing,” Tsukasa replied. “It’s quiet. No one will bother us.”

Senku hesitated—something flickering in his eyes, a trace of unease—but eventually nodded once. “...You’re the one who promised to protect me, anyway.”

That earned him a quiet smile before Tsukasa scooped him up with practiced ease.

They stepped into the garden, a breeze sweeping through the hedges and flower beds. Sunlight filtered through the trees, painting gold across Senku’s pale skin. He blinked slowly, adjusting to it, then squinted upward.

“I haven’t felt the sun in months,” he murmured.

Tsukasa’s arms tightened a little around him in response. “You’ll feel it every day from now on.”

For a while, they just stood there—Tsukasa still holding him, Senku resting against his chest with his eyes closed and his face tilted up, soaking in the warmth like it was something sacred.

Eventually, Senku stirred. “I want to try standing again.”

“You sure?”

Senku gave a small, determined nod.

Tsukasa set him down carefully, hovering close in case he stumbled. Senku wobbled, legs shaky—but this time, he found his balance. He stood.

And he smiled.

It was small, uncertain, but real.

Slowly, he stepped forward, walking with that same cautious determination toward a nearby patch of flowers. He crouched—not gracefully, but with effort—and picked a few delicate, light-purple blooms.

When he turned back to Tsukasa, his ears were already pink.

He approached slowly, holding the flowers awkwardly in both hands like he wasn’t sure what to do with them.

“…Here,” he muttered, not quite meeting Tsukasa’s eyes. “For you.”

Tsukasa took them with both hands, gaze warm, but didn’t speak just yet.

Senku swallowed, the color rising to his cheeks. “I was never good at this stuff. Y’know… feelings. Even before all the crap that happened.”

He paused.

“But… thank you.”

It came out softer than he expected. Honest.

And Tsukasa didn’t say anything right away. Instead, he leaned down and gently pressed his forehead against Senku’s, one hand resting lightly on the back of his head.

“You’re doing just fine,” Tsukasa whispered.

They stayed like that for a long moment—surrounded by sunlight and the scent of flowers—wrapped in a kind of peace that neither of them had known in a long, long time.

The moment lingered a little longer—their foreheads pressed together, the flowers tucked safely in Tsukasa’s hand, and Senku still slightly pink-cheeked from the raw honesty he’d just managed to share.

Then, with the ease of someone who’d made the decision long before the moment came, Tsukasa shifted, lowering one arm and slipping the other beneath Senku’s knees.

“Wait—” Senku began, blinking as he found himself being lifted into the air once again.

“I can walk now,” he protested, half-heartedly, his voice tilting toward that dry note of logic.

Tsukasa glanced down at him, eyes warm, a knowing smile curving his lips. “I know.”

Senku stared up at him for a beat, caught off guard by the soft finality in those two words.

He could’ve argued—maybe even meant to—but the words didn’t come. Not this time.

Instead, he let out a quiet sigh, more tired than exasperated.

Then, with hesitant ease, he rested his head against Tsukasa’s chest—lightly, like he was still learning how to lean on someone.

“…You’re impossible,” he murmured, not with irritation, but with the trace of a fond smile tugging at the corner of his lips.

Tsukasa’s chuckle rumbled deep and warm. “And still, you’re here.”

Senku blinked slowly, his voice soft and drowsy. “I guess… I don’t mind it so much.”

Tsukasa tightened his hold just slightly—secure, protective—and began walking back toward the mansion. The path was quiet, the fading sunlight draping golden light across Senku’s pale hair, the flowers still clutched in Tsukasa’s other hand.

And this time, Senku didn’t look away.

He just watched Tsukasa’s face in silence, as if memorizing the lines of someone who hadn’t let him fall—physically or otherwise.

---

Once they returned to the room, Tsukasa carried Senku with practiced ease, like he weighed nothing at all. He moved slowly, respectfully—like setting down something fragile. When Senku’s back touched the mattress, Tsukasa lingered, his hand resting briefly on Senku’s arm, not wanting to let go too fast.

Senku sat in silence, the familiar hush of the room pressing in on them. Tsukasa didn’t speak at first. He only watched, studying the subtle way Senku's fingers curled into the sheets, the way his eyes stayed low, distant.

Finally, Tsukasa broke the stillness. His voice was calm but probing. “Senku… What was Project Miracle? The real story.”

Senku didn’t look up.

His lips parted, but it took a second before any sound came out. When it did, his voice was quiet—fragile, like glass that might crack under its own weight.

“…I built it,” he said, barely more than a breath.

Tsukasa straightened slightly, brows knitting together. “You what?”

Senku’s eyes stayed fixed on a point just past Tsukasa’s shoulder, somewhere far away. “I designed the formula. The core compound. I created the prototype data. It was supposed to help people. That’s what it was meant for.”

He laughed, but it was hollow, a thin sound that fell flat in the still air.

“I thought I was changing the world,” he said, voice growing bitter. “Revolutionizing medicine—repairing neurons, regenerating muscle tissue, speeding cellular healing. And for a while, it was good. It was hopeful. Miraculous, even.”

His hands were shaking now, just a little. He tried to hide it, but Tsukasa noticed.

“Until the people funding us realized how valuable it could be if they… repurposed it. Military applications. Human enhancement. Obedience controls. I wasn’t just working in the lab—I was the blueprint.”

Senku’s breath caught in his throat, and he finally looked up, red eyes rimmed with exhaustion and something deeper—shame.

“They made me the prototype, Tsukasa,” he said, voice cracking. “They used my body because it was convenient. Because I was right there. Because they said I could survive it. And I believed them.”

His next words came out in a whisper, shaking:

“They called it ‘optimization.’ I didn’t realize until it was too late that I was becoming their first test subject.”

He paused, shoulders trembling as he fought back a wave of emotion. “I wanted to help people. That’s all I ever wanted.”

Tsukasa’s expression was unreadable for a moment. The silence stretched—heavy, suffocating—until Tsukasa finally spoke again.

“So you weren’t just their prisoner.” His tone wasn’t accusing. Just steady. Trying to understand. “You were part of it. Until they turned on you.”

Senku flinched, as if the words struck something raw. But he nodded. Slowly.

“I should’ve seen it coming,” he murmured. “All the warning signs were there. But I was so caught up in the science, in the breakthroughs… I didn’t see what they were turning it into. What they were turning me into.”

A tear slipped down his cheek—just one. Senku didn’t seem to notice. Or maybe he didn’t care anymore.

“I let them turn hope into control,” he whispered. “And now people are dying because of something I made.”

For a moment, Tsukasa didn’t speak. Then he shifted closer, just enough that Senku could feel the warmth of his presence.

“You were trying to help,” he said, his voice like a shield. “You trusted the wrong people, but your heart—your intention—was never wrong.”

Senku’s jaw clenched, and he looked away again. “That doesn’t undo what’s been done.”

“No,” Tsukasa agreed. “But you’re here now. You’re free. And that means you have the power to make things right.”

Senku looked down at his own hands again—scarred, shaky, marked by a past he never wanted.

“…I don’t know how,” he admitted, barely audible.

Tsukasa reached out and took one of those hands in his own, gently. Anchoring him.

“You don’t have to figure it out alone,” he said, firm but kind. “You’re not a machine. You’re not a weapon. You’re you. And I will protect what’s left of you until you remember how to protect yourself.”

Senku looked up at him then—truly looked—and for a moment, all his walls were gone. There was no sarcasm, no science, no carefully constructed intellect guarding his heart.

Just a quiet boy in a bruised body, tired and unsure and human.

“…Thank you,” he said softly.

And Tsukasa held his hand tighter.

They talked late into the night, the stillness of the room wrapping around them like a warm cocoon. The weight of the day had dulled, softened by comfort, safety, and the strange relief of not needing to pretend anymore. They were still sat on the bed, legs lazily stretched out, shoulders close but not quite touching. The soft golden glow of the bedside lamp threw shadows on the wall, and the city beyond the windows seemed like a different world entirely.

Senku’s voice broke the quiet first. Low, uncertain.

“…I don’t know what to do now.”

Tsukasa glanced at him, brows lifting. “With what?”

Senku hesitated, then let his back hit the headboard with a soft thud. “Everything. Now that I’m… free, I guess. I don’t know where to go, what to chase. I used to always know. I always had a direction.” He looked down at his hands, turning them over slowly. “Now it just feels like I’m drifting.”

Tsukasa let that hang for a moment, then shifted closer, arms resting on his knees. “That’s okay,” he said gently. “You don’t need to know yet. Just being here, breathing, waking up and not running—that’s progress. Healing doesn’t always have a clear direction.”

Senku gave a tiny, bitter huff of laughter—but it wasn’t sharp. Just tired. “You’re oddly good at this whole ‘wisdom in darkness’ thing.”

“You bring it out in me,” Tsukasa replied, half-smiling.

Then he leaned back slightly, casting his gaze toward the ceiling. “Actually,” he added thoughtfully, “there was a moment today… during the meeting. When you whispered that theory—when I saw it click for you like it was nothing. Everyone in that room had been struggling with it for weeks, Senku. And you just—” he snapped his fingers softly, “—solved it. Without even trying.”

Senku blinked. “…You’re flattering me.”

“No,” Tsukasa said, turning his head to meet his eyes. “I’m in awe of you.”

That made Senku’s ears tint pink. He quickly looked away, but a small, genuine smile crept onto his lips and lingered there.

“…What about you?” he asked after a pause, voice quiet, as if he was afraid of disrupting the moment. “What did you want to be? Before all this. A warrior? A king?”

Tsukasa took a slow breath, his eyes clouding with something heavier. “I never really thought about it,” he said honestly. “Back then, it wasn’t about dreams or ambition. It was survival.”

Senku looked at him then, curiosity overtaking his hesitation.

“I had to take care of my sister,” Tsukasa continued, his tone steady but low. “Our parents weren’t kind people. And when I say protect, I don’t mean metaphorically. I mean physically.” He clenched a fist loosely in his lap. “They hurt her. And if I wasn’t there, they would’ve kept doing it. So I stayed. I shielded her. Every day.”

Senku stayed quiet, his gaze softening as he listened.

“She’s sick now,” Tsukasa went on, voice dipping further. “From the drug. The same one they tested on you. Project Miracle.” His jaw tightened, but he didn’t look angry—just… tired. “So no. I didn’t think about what I wanted to be. I just became what I needed to be for her.”

There was silence again—but this time, it wasn’t empty. It was full of shared grief, unspoken understanding.

Senku slowly reached out, fingers brushing lightly against Tsukasa’s hand. “You were a good brother,” he said softly.

Tsukasa looked down at their hands. “I’m still trying to be.”

Senku gave a quiet nod, and for once, there was no sarcasm, no shield of intellect. Just a boy with red-rimmed eyes and a soft voice who’d seen too much.

“…Then we can keep trying. Both of us,” Senku whispered. “You protect me, and I’ll… I’ll do my best to figure out what comes next.”

And for the first time, it didn’t feel like drifting anymore. It felt like choosing to move forward—together.

The room was steeped in that gentle stillness that followed raw honesty. The weight of their shared stories still lingered, but it was softer now, no longer pressing—just present, like a memory neither of them had to carry alone anymore. Senku sat close beside Tsukasa, his eyes half-lidded, the faint glow of the bedside lamp catching the shimmer of dried salt on his cheeks and the tousled strands of his pale hair.

Tsukasa shifted slightly, his voice dipping into something even gentler. “Your hair’s a mess.”

Senku blinked, lifting a hand to run through it—but winced halfway. The strands were tangled, matted in places, neglected longer than he cared to admit. He huffed a breath, embarrassed, but Tsukasa didn’t mock him. He just offered, softly, “I can wash it for you, if you want.”

Senku froze, instinctively retreating behind the wall of hesitation. It wasn’t just about cleanliness. No one had touched him like that—so casually, so kindly—in years. Not since before the experiments. Not since before the pain.

“I…” he hesitated, fingers curling into the sheets. “You don’t have to.”

“I know,” Tsukasa said easily. “But I want to.”

Senku didn’t answer right away. But after a long moment, he gave the smallest nod.

They moved to the bathroom in comfortable silence. Tsukasa helped him sit on the small cushioned stool, kneeling behind him at the basin, sleeves rolled up. The first touch—Tsukasa’s hands gently wetting Senku’s hair—made Senku tense without meaning to. But Tsukasa didn’t rush. His fingers were steady, slow, grounding. He worked the shampoo in with surprising tenderness, massaging Senku’s scalp like a quiet promise that nothing would ever hurt him again—not while he was here.

Senku’s eyes fluttered shut. Slowly, inch by inch, his body relaxed under Tsukasa’s touch.

“Your hair’s really soft under all this,” Tsukasa murmured as he carefully rinsed the soap out, letting the water cascade gently down Senku’s neck. “You’ve always been pretty… but you’re even prettier with your hair down.”

Senku’s eyes snapped open, a flush rising sharply to his cheeks. “Wh–what kind of dumb compliment is that…” he mumbled, ears visibly pink.

But Tsukasa only chuckled, the sound rich and fond. “Not dumb if it’s true.”

And then there was silence again—this time full of warmth. Tsukasa carefully toweled Senku’s hair dry, fingers combing through the loose strands with reverence. The water dripped rhythmically into the basin, a quiet lullaby as Senku slowly leaned back into the safety of Tsukasa’s hands.

There were no guards up anymore. No words needed. Just the soft, grounding ritual of being cared for.

And for the first time in a long time… Senku felt clean. Not just physically—but seen, held, and safe.

They stepped out of the bath into the quiet hush of the room, warm light spilling over the floor as steam curled around their skin. Senku’s hair, now soft and towel-damp, framed his face in loose waves, and there was a relaxed air to his posture that hadn’t been there before—like some invisible burden had slipped off his shoulders, if only for a little while.

Tsukasa moved slowly as he helped steady Senku, holding his waist gently to keep him upright. That’s when he saw it again—faint scars, like silver threads stitched across pale skin. Some were small, faded with time. Others looked newer. Deliberate.

Tsukasa's hands lingered, then hesitated. His voice was soft, almost tentative. “Senku… what did they do to you?”

Senku froze like someone caught in a beam of light. His fingers twitched against the towel wrapped around him. For a moment, he looked like he wouldn’t answer—but something about the way Tsukasa asked, without force, without expectation, let the silence settle gently.

“They wanted to see how much the body could endure,” Senku murmured, barely above a whisper. “How much it could take before the mind broke. How far they could go before something gave out.”

Tsukasa’s jaw tightened, but he didn’t speak—not yet.

Senku glanced up, eyes glassy but dry. “I didn’t break,” he said, and there was no pride in it—just quiet exhaustion.

“I know,” Tsukasa whispered, and he let that be enough. He didn’t press. He simply touched Senku’s shoulder with reverence, then guided him back to the room.

There, Tsukasa dug through an old wardrobe, pulling out clothes he hadn’t touched in years—soft cotton, loose shirts, a few well-worn sweaters. Senku stood beside him, towel still clinging to his waist, uncertain but willing.

Tsukasa held up a deep navy sweater, thick and oversized. “Try this.”

Senku eyed it suspiciously, but pulled it over his head—and immediately got swallowed whole. The hem fell past his thighs, the sleeves slipping over his hands until only his fingertips peeked out.

Tsukasa blinked, then let out a surprised laugh—a real one, warm and unrestrained. “You look like you got eaten by it.”

Senku’s ears flushed crimson. “Shut up,” he muttered, tugging the collar up to his nose to hide the soft grin tugging at his lips. “It’s warm.”

“I bet.” Tsukasa’s smile lingered as he watched Senku shuffle toward the bed in a sea of navy wool.

Something about the image—the oversized sweater, the pink on Senku’s cheeks, the way his red eyes peeked over the collar—settled in Tsukasa’s chest like sunlight.

In that moment, it didn’t matter what came before. Not the lab. Not the scars. Not the silence.

Just a quiet room, soft laughter, and the beginning of something safe.

The peace—gentle and fleeting—was broken by a knock at the door.

Senku visibly flinched at the sound, like a reflex, his whole body going rigid. Tsukasa, seated beside him, immediately placed a steadying hand on his back before standing to answer. The door creaked open to reveal Gen, grinning in that usual carefree way of his, but even he faltered at the sight of Senku bundled up in an oversized sweater, sitting like a shadow near the headboard, eyes locked on the entry like it was a threat.

“I brought something sweet,” Gen announced, lifting a small silver tray with two slices of cake—airy sponge, layered with cream and fruit, the colors delicate and pastel. “Thought you two could use a little sugar.”

Tsukasa gave a faint nod and stepped aside to let him in. Gen moved carefully, sensing the tension in the room.

But Senku didn’t relax.

If anything, he tensed further, shrinking into the thick wool of the sweater like it could shield him from Gen’s gaze. His red eyes were guarded, unreadable, but sharp with wariness. He didn’t look at the dessert. He didn’t look at Gen. His gaze tracked every movement with a silent, simmering distrust.

“I don’t want it,” Senku said, voice clipped. “I don’t like sweets.”

Gen stopped mid-step, blinking. “That’s alright. I didn’t mean to assume—I just thought maybe—” He caught himself, then softened his tone. “It’s lychee and cream. Really mild. Nothing artificial. Not like the stuff they probably—”

He caught the look in Senku’s eyes and shut his mouth.

Senku’s fists had curled around the sweater’s sleeves, knuckles white, his chest rising in tight, shallow breaths. It wasn’t the cake. It wasn’t even Gen, really. It was the act of being offered something by someone unfamiliar. It was the idea of being coaxed again, of being told something was safe only for it to spiral into pain.

He had learned not to trust kind gestures.

Tsukasa came back to his side without a word and set the tray down. He knelt slightly, so he was level with Senku, and offered the fork—not pushing, just there. His voice was low, gentle. “You don’t have to eat it. But I’m here. It’s safe.”

Senku didn’t move at first. His breathing was still too quick. His gaze locked on the cake like it might turn into poison mid-bite.

Gen, standing a short distance away, rubbed the back of his neck. His grin had faded into something smaller, more sincere. “I… I’m not good at this,” he admitted. “The whole trust thing. But I’m trying, Senku. You don’t know me yet. But I know you’re important to Tsukasa. So that makes you important to me, too.”

Senku’s head tilted slightly. Something flickered behind his eyes.

He didn’t respond. But he reached forward, slowly, and allowed Tsukasa to guide the fork to his lips.

He chewed without enthusiasm, face scrunching a bit. “Too sweet,” he muttered, voice quiet. “Weird texture.”

Tsukasa chuckled. “Not a fan?”

Senku huffed, his cheeks faintly pink. “Didn’t say that.” Then, after a pause—almost like he didn’t realize he was doing it—he leaned forward and took another small bite from the fork still in Tsukasa’s hand.

Gen smiled from his spot near the dresser, relaxing a little as the air in the room lightened just enough to breathe easier.

Senku didn’t look at him. But he didn’t flinch either.

And that was something.

Senku curled up, back against the headboard, his expression unreadable again. The moment of softness from earlier—when he let Tsukasa feed him—was already buried beneath layers of silence. He only looked up when Tsukasa stood from his chair, phone buzzing in his hand.

“I need to take this,” Tsukasa said gently. “Will you be alright for a few minutes?”

Senku hesitated, eyes flicking toward Gen, who was still perched nearby.

“I’ll try,” he muttered quietly, fingers tightening around the blanket.

Tsukasa gave him a lingering look, then nodded once and stepped out of the room, closing the door behind him.

A quiet settled in the room—stiff and uncertain.

Gen shifted slightly, but didn’t approach the bed. Instead, he lowered himself to the floor beside it, leaning his back against the frame so Senku could still see him but not feel cornered.

“You know,” Gen started after a pause, voice lighter than the topic deserved, “you’re not the only one Tsukasa picked up off the floor.”

Senku’s gaze flickered toward him.

“I was… auctioned, actually,” Gen said, still watching the floor. “Not the cleanest origin story. I was a ‘limited edition’ product, if you can believe it.” His laugh was dry, detached, like he’d told the story too many times to cry over it now.

Senku blinked. His hands loosened just slightly on the blanket.

“Tsukasa found me before I hit the worst part of the system. I don’t think I’d still be here if he hadn’t. Ukyo too—he was on the run. Yuzuriha, Chrome… all of us. Saved by him.”

He paused. “Well… all of us except Hyoga. He came on his own. Some twisted impulse, I guess.”

That caught Senku’s attention. His eyes sharpened, a flicker of curiosity rising—but he didn’t speak. Just listened.

Gen looked up at him finally, offering a tentative smile. “Tsukasa doesn’t just protect people. He rebuilds them. He did it for me. He’s doing it for you, too.”

Senku’s fingers curled again. The warmth of that idea—being saved—was something he wanted to believe in. But alongside it was a quiet ache, blooming in his chest.

If Tsukasa saved everyone… then what was he to Tsukasa? Just another rescue? Another broken piece to fix?

He didn’t voice the thought. Couldn’t.

But when Gen stood to leave, Senku surprised both of them by reaching out and tugging lightly at his sleeve.

“…Stay?” he asked softly.

Gen blinked, then nodded, settling beside him again without hesitation. They sat there in silence, the warmth between them growing just a bit stronger. Gen didn’t know it yet, but in that moment, he became something more to Senku—a safe second presence, a tether in the absence of Tsukasa.

And yet, even with that comfort, Senku’s eyes lingered on the door—waiting.

Wondering.

Hoping to feel like he mattered just a little more than the rest.  

Chapter Text

It was the first morning in what felt like forever that Senku woke without the echo of a scream lodged in his throat, no cold sweat clinging to his skin, no phantom restraints pressing against his limbs.

Just… stillness.

Warmth.

Peace.

He blinked slowly, registering the softness of the bed beneath him and the morning sun streaming faintly through the curtains. It took a moment to realize something was missing.

Or rather—someone.

His eyes flicked to the other side of the bed. Empty.

The peace cracked a little.

He turned his head with a frown and was met with—

Gen.

Standing there.

Just standing there, arms crossed, a knowing grin already tugging at his lips.

Senku squinted. “Do you just watch people when they sleep, or is this a special service?”

Gen gasped in mock offense, hand to his chest like he’d been wounded. “How dare you imply such perversion, Senku-chan. I’ll have you know I only admire aesthetically pleasing geniuses from a respectable distance.”

Senku rolled his eyes, but there was the faintest curl of amusement on his lips.

“Did Tsukasa ever come back last night?” he asked, quieter now, almost careful.

Gen’s expression softened. “He did. He even spent the night with you,” he said with a wink, before adding, “In the most gentlemanly of ways, of course. Though you did use his arm as a pillow and drooled a little bit.”

“I don’t drool.”

“Of course not,” Gen said, entirely unconvincing.

Senku narrowed his eyes, then glanced away, hiding the faint heat rising in his cheeks.

“Anyway,” Gen continued with a light hum, easing into a nearby chair with casual flair, “Tsukasa’s off on one of his oh-so-important business trips—gone for the week, something about border reports and potential sabotage attempts. Very cloak-and-dagger, very serious.” He then pointed a finger in mock ceremony. “But! He made it very clear that I’m to keep Senku-chan thoroughly entertained in his absence. So, lucky you—here I am.”

Senku gave him a long look. “He left you in charge?”

Gen beamed. “Feeling safer already, aren’t you?”

Senku exhaled through his nose, half a laugh, half a sigh. “More like deeply concerned.”

But as he sat up slowly, stretching stiff limbs and rubbing the sleep from his eyes, that lingering anxiety from waking up alone had begun to fade—replaced by a reluctant sense of comfort.

Still, as Gen rambled on about how he’d made tea and briefly considered breakfast-in-bed before realizing he’d probably get stabbed for it, Senku’s mind drifted.

Tsukasa had saved so many people—Gen, Ukyo, the others. He’d built a haven for the broken and discarded, given them shelter, dignity, a chance to breathe again. And Senku didn’t begrudge any of that. In fact, he admired it. But under all that admiration, a quiet ache lingered, barely noticeable unless you knew where to look.

‘Was I just another one of them?’

Another lost soul Tsukasa picked up out of kindness, or maybe guilt? Was Senku special to him at all—or just another project to protect?

The question clawed at the back of his mind, gentle but relentless.

And then there was the matter of Tsukasa being gone for a whole week. A week.

He hadn’t even gotten the chance to say goodbye. No warning, no quiet assurance, not even a fleeting touch before slipping away in the early hours. Gen had been the one to break the news. Senku had simply woken to an empty space beside him, and something about that hit harder than he’d expected.

He knew Tsukasa would come back. Of course he would. That’s what logic dictated. That’s what Tsukasa always did. But knowing something and feeling it were two entirely different things.

Senku didn’t say anything, though. Not to Gen. Not to anyone. He just tucked the anxiety away where no one could reach it. Where it wouldn’t interfere.

Instead, he reached for the tea Gen had set on the nightstand and took a slow sip. It was a little too sweet, but it grounded him.

Just enough to keep his hands from trembling.

He then shifted on the bed and straightened up with a small huff, brushing his hair back from his face. “Hey… Gen.”

Gen paused mid-sip of his tea. “Hm?”

“Do you have a notebook? And a pen?”

Gen blinked. “What, are we writing love letters now?”

“Don’t make me regret asking,” Senku muttered, but his tone lacked bite.

Gen smiled a little and stood, walking over to a nearby drawer. “You sure you’re up for scribbling today?”

“I need to do something,” Senku said, quieter now. “Can’t sit here all day thinking.”

Gen handed him a clean notebook and a smooth pen, setting them in Senku’s lap like something sacred. “Here. First page’s cursed, but the rest is fine.”

Senku arched an eyebrow. “Cursed?”

“I may or may not have used it to test lipstick shades once,” Gen said casually.

Senku stared at him. Then, without comment, opened to the second page.

He let the pen hover above the paper, eyes scanning the blank surface like it was something to conquer. Not even sure what he would write yet—but the motion of it, the idea of building again, even if it was just thoughts or formulas or fragments of theories—it gave him something to hold onto.

And maybe, just maybe, it helped push that ache in his chest a little further away.

Senku sat cross-legged, hunched slightly over the notebook as the pen began to glide. At first, it was just idle scribbles—chemical equations, pressure conversions, fragments of schematics. His handwriting was jagged from disuse, but his mind flowed like it always had: sharp, fast, relentless.

Gen leaned against the wall with a mug in hand, watching the steady motion of Senku’s wrist. “You’re not even gonna warm up, huh?” he teased lightly.

Senku didn’t answer. He was too focused. His gaze had sharpened in that quiet way that made Gen pause. Something had shifted—just slightly—but enough.

Curious, Gen wandered closer, angling his head as if to peek innocently. “What’s all this, formulas for your next evil plan?”

Senku flicked his eyes up for half a second, unimpressed. “You talk too much.”

Unbothered, Gen hummed and glanced down again—then blinked.

His eyes skimmed over the page. Water purification diagrams. Energy conversion notes. Chemical substitutions for sustainable fuel. A chart mapping nutrient-rich soil from basic resources. Gen’s brows raised higher with each line. These weren’t just random scribbles. They were solutions. Tangible, efficient—genius.

“You… you wrote this just now?” he asked, a grin slowly blooming on his face. “Like, off the top of your head?”

Senku shrugged, still scribbling. “I’m bored.”

Gen let out a laugh that echoed like sunlight. “You little—do you even realize what this is?! These—these are actual systems! We could implement half of this tomorrow and make life easier for everyone!”

That gave Senku pause. His pen slowed.

Gen’s voice softened just a little. “You didn’t have to do this, you know.”

“I know,” Senku replied, staring down at the page.

He didn’t say he wanted to help. He didn’t need to.

Gen took a step back, practically vibrating with excitement. “Alright, that’s it—I’m kidnapping you. Or wait—no, labnapping you! Senku-chan, how’d you like a trip to our humble little lab?”

Senku blinked. “You have a lab?”

“Oh-hoh, yes we do. It’s dusty and needs some serious brains, which clearly, we now have.”

A beat.

Senku’s lips twitched, almost like he was suppressing a smile. “…I guess that beats sitting here.”

Gen clapped his hands together. “Excellent! You’ll love it. Well, you’ll hate it at first, and then you'll fix everything in under ten minutes and feel deeply superior about it.”

Senku slowly stood, the notebook still in hand, and glanced toward the door. “Let’s go before I change my mind.”

Gen offered a theatrical bow. “Right this way, Dr. Stone.”

As they stepped out of the room, the shift in space felt heavier than expected. The quiet of the halls, the faint hum of the compound coming to life, the echo of their footsteps—it all made Senku’s chest tighten. He slowed a little, his free hand hovering midair before reaching out and gently grabbing onto Gen’s sleeve.

Gen glanced down, surprise flickering in his eyes, but he didn’t say anything. Instead, without missing a beat, he took Senku’s hand fully, lacing their fingers together in a way that was steady, unintrusive.

Senku didn’t pull away. If anything, he held tighter, clutching onto Gen’s hand like it was a tether, like it kept him grounded in this unfamiliar place.

They walked the hallway like that, quiet but not uncomfortably so. Gen didn’t make a show of it, didn’t tease or dramatize the gesture, which Senku silently appreciated. When they finally arrived at the old lab tucked in the far wing of the compound, Gen paused at the door, his thumb gently brushing over the back of Senku’s hand.

“You gonna be okay?” he asked, voice unusually soft.

Senku hesitated. He glanced at the lab door, then at their hands. His fingers tightened slightly in Gen’s.

“…Yeah,” he said, voice low, but sure. “I think I will.”

As the lab doors creaked open, a light scent of metal, dust, and sterilized air hit Senku’s nose. The space was wide and cluttered—clearly lived-in, but in a way that hinted at passion rather than neglect. Tools lay in scattered patterns across tables, chemical jars lined the walls like soldiers in glass armor, and scrawled notes layered every surface like a chaotic language only a few could decipher.

But the centerpiece of the room was a young man standing in front of a large whiteboard, mid-thought, eyes narrowed at a particularly stubborn equation he had half-solved. His marker tapped against his lips as he considered his next move. Without turning around, he muttered something to himself about kinetic flow inconsistency.

Senku, still holding Gen’s hand, tilted his head slightly. “You’re missing a variable in the initial energy input. It should be squared,” he said casually, his voice cutting through the air like a clean incision.

The young man froze. He turned slowly, brow raised in suspicion and awe. “Ah, you must be Senku,” he said, half-challenging, half-impressed. “The mysterious new guest Tsukasa brought in.”

Senku gave a small, nonchalant nod. “And you must be Chrome. Heard about you from Gen.” He let go of Gen’s hand then, stepping forward toward the whiteboard, notebook tucked under his arm.

Chrome leaned back, crossing his arms. “And what did he tell you?”

“That you’re the Familia’s top scientist,” Senku replied, scanning the board with swift precision. “But this model’s got a leak in the kinetic distribution. That’s why the ratios aren’t holding up.”

He grabbed a marker from the edge of the table without asking and adjusted the formula with a few quick, practiced flicks. When he stepped back, Chrome blinked at the board, then let out a stunned whistle.

“Well, damn,” Chrome said, rubbing the back of his neck. “You weren’t kidding.”

Senku only offered a slight shrug, his voice quieter this time. “Wasn’t trying to.”

Chrome chuckled, stepping closer to examine the correction. “You’re fast. Like, weirdly fast. How’d you do that?”

Senku hesitated at Chrome’s question, the marker still in his hand hovering in midair like he’d forgotten what he was doing.

“I used to be a scientist at NASA,” he said, tone low and almost detached. “Worked on all sorts of advanced propulsion models, deep space mechanics, next-gen biotech...”

His voice grew quieter with each word, trailing into something less confident. “Then… I was offered a position in a private lab. Said they were doing revolutionary work in medicine. I thought it was a chance to help people. To do something meaningful.”

There was a pause.

Senku’s hand dropped to his side, the marker clattering softly on the metal counter. His shoulders began to tremble—just slightly, just enough for Gen to notice.

He didn’t say anything at first. Just crossed the room in a few quiet steps and wrapped his arms around Senku, pulling him into a tight, grounding hug.

Senku tensed, but only for a moment.

“You don’t have to force yourself to say more,” Gen murmured, his voice uncharacteristically gentle. “Not here. Not now.”

Chrome, standing nearby, gave a solemn nod, his earlier curiosity softening into quiet understanding. “You’re here now. That’s what matters.”

Senku didn’t respond right away. He stood in Gen’s arms, his head resting lightly on Gen’s shoulder, eyes fixed somewhere far off. The familiar burn behind them didn’t come this time—but the ache in his chest still sat heavy.

“…Thanks,” he whispered eventually. Not with his usual sarcasm, or detached intelligence, but something far rarer: sincerity.

And for a moment, in that messy, quiet lab—he didn’t feel like a prototype. Just a person, being pieced back together.

Chrome, ever the excitable brainiac, clapped his hands together like he’d just struck gold. “Alright, alright, okay—if you’re that sharp, I’ve got more!” He darted to a cluttered table, shuffling through notebooks and printouts, pages flying like paper birds. “There’s this fluid dynamics problem we’ve been stuck on for weeks—and don’t even get me started on the catalyst conundrum from two months ago.”

Senku blinked, still half-grounded in Gen’s hug, but curiosity tugged at his hands. Slowly, gently, he stepped out of Gen’s embrace and reached for the new set of equations Chrome eagerly presented.

Within minutes, it was like watching a machine flick back to life.

Senku’s fingers flew across the whiteboard, scribbling corrections, reworking values, drawing molecular structures with terrifying precision. Every time Chrome thought Senku might trip up, he didn’t—he just kept going, even building on some of Chrome’s rough drafts and making them better. Faster. Cleaner.

Chrome watched with wide eyes, almost bouncing in place. “This is unreal. You’re like—like some kind of calculator with a soul!”

But just as Senku was reaching for the next problem sheet, a loud grrrrrrgle cut through the air.

Senku froze.

So did Chrome.

Gen slowly blinked, then grinned like a cat catching a canary. “Oh?” he teased, one brow arched. “Is that the sound of our brilliant scientist’s very human stomach making a dramatic cameo?”

Senku immediately flushed, ears turning pink as he crossed his arms over his middle. “It’s a biological reaction. Don’t make it weird.”

Gen only smiled wider, stepping in to gently pry the marker from Senku’s hand. “It’s adorable, not weird. And more importantly—lunch time.” He turned toward the door with theatrical flair. “C’mon, Senku-chan. You’ve saved science for the day. Now let’s save your blood sugar.”

Senku hesitated, glancing at the papers with longing, but his stomach betrayed him again with another audible growl.

“…Fine,” he muttered, allowing Gen to steer him toward the exit.

Chrome called after them with a grin. “Hey, Senku—thanks. Seriously. That was amazing.”

Senku didn’t look back, but a small, bashful smile tugged at his lips. “Yeah… sure.”

And just like that, the door to the lab closed behind them, the echo of chalk dust and quiet admiration lingering in the air.

---

They had just made it back to the room, Senku clutching his notebook against his chest like it was armor. The moment the door clicked shut behind them, Gen gave a hum of thought.

“I’ll go have someone fetch lunch, alright? Don’t want our newest genius fainting mid-equation.”

Senku nodded, but something in him twisted, unease tightening his chest. He didn’t want to admit it—not out loud, not even to himself—but the thought of being left alone, even for a moment, made his stomach churn worse than any hunger could.

Still, he gave a clipped, “Okay,” and Gen slipped out with a cheerful wave and a promise to be back in five minutes tops.

No more than a minute passed before the door opened again.

Senku turned, expecting Gen—only to freeze when a tall man stepped in instead, white hair cascading over his shoulders, a half-mask covering the lower part of his face. His presence was quiet, yet heavy—like still air before a lightning strike.

Senku didn’t need anyone to tell him who he was. He knew.

Hyoga.

Every nerve in his body tensed like coiled wire. There was a feeling—primal, instinctive, unnatural. Something about Hyoga set him entirely on edge. Not like Gen’s flamboyance or Chrome’s chaotic energy—this was cold. Calm. Controlled. And deeply wrong.

Hyoga stepped closer with graceful, deliberate steps. Upon noticing Senku’s rigid posture and sharpened gaze, he lowered his mask slowly. His smile was polite—too polite. The kind of smile that didn’t reach the eyes.

He bent slightly, bringing himself to Senku’s level, face-to-face.

“You must be Senku,” he said smoothly. “I’ve heard… quite a lot.”

Senku didn’t blink. Didn’t breathe. Every cell screamed danger, his fingers digging into his own palm, but he didn’t look away. Couldn’t.

Then, like a burst of thunder, the door slammed open again.

“Hyoga!!” Gen’s voice cracked in a panicked pitch as he stumbled into the room. “You can’t just enter someone’s room like that!”

Hyoga tilted his head slightly, unbothered. “Ah. My apologies.” His smile didn’t fade. He straightened, mask sliding back over his mouth in one fluid motion. “I was curious, that’s all. I meant no harm.”

He didn’t wait for permission to leave—just turned and walked out like nothing happened, the door shutting behind him with a soft, ominous click.

Silence hung heavy in the air.

Gen turned to Senku, his expression torn with guilt and alarm. “Senku—hey, are you okay?”

Senku said nothing, his hands trembling slightly, breath uneven.

Without another word, Gen crossed the room and pulled him into a hug—gentle, grounding. “I’m so sorry,” he murmured. “I should’ve known he’d try something. I shouldn’t have left you alone.”

Senku didn’t return the hug right away.

But after a moment, slowly, he leaned into it—shoulders sagging, some of the tension melting beneath the warmth of Gen’s arms and voice.

“…It’s fine,” Senku whispered. But his fingers curled in Gen’s shirt, holding just a little tighter than before.

---

The lunch had been warm enough—quiet bites shared between Gen’s gentle chatter and Senku’s wandering thoughts—but the moment his plate was empty, Senku stood.

“I want to go back to the lab,” he said, not quite meeting Gen’s gaze. “I need to… do something.”

Gen blinked, halfway through a sip of tea. “Are you sure? You could rest, or—”

“I don’t want to rest,” Senku interrupted, sharper than he meant to. Then, more softly, “Not right now.”

Gen hesitated. His eyes flicked over Senku’s posture—tense shoulders, clenched fists, the way he kept glancing toward the door as if Hyoga might reappear at any moment. But then he smiled, rising to his feet with a theatrical stretch. “Alright, alright. Back to the lab it is. Let the genius run wild.”

They returned to the lab wing in silence, but Senku didn’t release Gen’s hand until they stepped through the door.

Chrome looked up from a cluttered desk, bright-eyed as ever. “Hey! You’re back!” His grin faltered just slightly as he noticed the lingering tension on Senku’s face, but he didn’t comment.

Senku headed straight to a battered table in the corner, where broken devices and old tools lay scattered like forgotten bones. He didn’t ask for permission, just started sorting, fixing, drawing up schematics like a machine winding itself up to stay distracted. Wires sparked back to life under his touch. Circuit boards made sense when everything else didn’t.

Gen watched from the side, arms folded, content to let Senku retreat into logic and numbers for now.

After a while, Chrome quietly crossed the room. He held out a small device—no larger than a lighter, shaped like a puzzle cube with buttons and rotating sides.

“Hey, uh…” Chrome scratched the back of his neck. “This is something I made a while ago. It doesn’t do much, but when my head gets… too loud, I mess with it. Helps me feel like I’ve got a grip on something. Might work for you too.”

Senku blinked, momentarily pulled out of his laser focus. He glanced down at the device, then at Chrome. Slowly, he reached out and took it.

It clicked softly in his hand. Familiar in its complexity. Calming.

“…Thanks,” he muttered.

Chrome smiled. “No problem. We scientists gotta stick together, right?”

Senku didn’t reply, but the subtle shift in his shoulders—the slight loosening of tension—spoke volumes. He kept the device in his palm as he turned back to the workbench, fingers absentmindedly twisting it while his other hand returned to the schematic.

Gen, leaning against the far wall, caught Chrome’s eye and mouthed a silent “thank you.” Chrome just nodded.

And though Hyoga’s shadow still lingered faintly in the back of Senku’s mind, it couldn’t reach him here. Not with tools in hand, plans forming in his head, and—for once—people who weren’t trying to take anything from him.

Just… offering something real.

As Senku hunched over the open console, fingers stained with graphite and oil, his focus narrowed until everything else—Gen's occasional humming, Chrome scribbling in the background, even the cold air of the lab—blurred out. He didn’t even notice when his hand brushed over a loose coil, instinct guiding him to tuck it back into place and solder the fraying wire without a second thought.

A low hum stirred beneath the dusty console. Lights blinked on.

Beep.

The screen flickered to life with a grainy glow, static forming words across its surface.

“Whoa—no way!” Chrome practically tripped over a stool rushing to Senku’s side. “That’s been dead since before I got here!”

Gen, now peering over Senku’s shoulder, let out a delighted laugh. “You didn’t even try to fix it, and now it’s singing. Classic Senku.”

Senku blinked slowly at the terminal, caught off guard by how… simple it had been. The familiar startup sequence, the rows of code lining the edge of the screen—it was like opening the past and finding it still breathing.

“Looks like it’s hooked up to a short-range relay,” Chrome said, tapping the side. “You might be able to send a message.”

Senku didn’t move right away. His hand hovered over the keys, suddenly uncertain. Would Tsukasa even see it? What if he didn't reply? What if he didn't care as much as I—

“Just write something small,” Gen nudged him with his shoulder, voice gentle. “Doesn’t have to be grand. He’ll be thrilled no matter what.”

Senku hesitated, then typed:

“System online. I’m okay.”

He hit send.

The cursor blinked twice. Then—

“I knew you’d bring it back to life. I’ll be home soon, genius.”

Senku’s breath caught. He stared at the screen a second longer than he meant to. Then, instinctively, his fingers curled tighter around the small device Chrome had given him earlier—the one he hadn’t let go of since.

His face colored softly, a pink tinge dusting his cheeks. A smile tugged at the corner of his lips before he could stop it. He angled his head slightly so neither Gen nor Chrome would see.

“Aw, look at you,” Gen said anyway, tone light and teasing but not unkind. “That smile’s a national treasure.”

Chrome grinned wide. “You really like him, huh?”

Senku rolled his eyes, shoving Chrome's face away with one hand, but the smile remained. That reply—it had grounded him more than he realized.

For the first time since Tsukasa left, the knot in his chest loosened just a bit.

As Senku continued to tinker with the equipment, his mind became clearer with each adjustment. The familiar thrill of solving problems, of bringing life back into forgotten machines, began to wash away the lingering unease he felt earlier. The knot in his chest that had been tightening over the past few days finally loosened, even if just a little. For the first time since Tsukasa’s departure, Senku didn’t feel so alone. He had people around him who, despite their quirks, genuinely wanted to be there.

After a while, Gen, who had been humming softly as he sorted through various papers and tools, spoke up again, breaking the comfortable silence.

“Hey, Senku,” Gen said, his voice quieter than usual. “You know, I’m really glad you’re here. You’re not just some genius—” he smirked, though there was something more thoughtful behind his gaze “—you’re someone we can rely on. I mean it.”

Senku, caught slightly off guard, paused for a moment, wiping his hands on his pants. He looked at Gen, studying the sincerity in his eyes. It was strange, hearing those words from someone who had once been so distant, so wrapped up in his own world. But there was no teasing this time, no hidden agenda. It was just... honesty.

“Yeah, well, it’s not like I had much of a choice,” Senku replied, his voice gruff but there was a hint of warmth to it. He didn’t look at Gen directly but rather focused back on the console in front of him, trying to hide the way his heart raced. It was still a little hard for him to accept such sentiment, but it didn’t feel like a bad thing, either.

Chrome, who had been quiet for a while, suddenly stood up and clapped his hands together. “Alright! Now that we’ve got a working terminal, how about we put that to good use? I’ve got a whole list of things that need fixing.”

Senku’s eyes lit up at the mention of new problems to solve. “What kind of problems?”

“Well, this old water filtration system is... well, it’s a mess,” Chrome said, grabbing a scrap of paper from his desk. “It’s been down for a while, and we’re running low on clean water. If we don’t get it fixed soon, we’ll have some issues around here.”

Senku nodded, his mind immediately jumping into problem-solving mode. “Let me see it. I’ll have it fixed in an hour.”

Gen chuckled, shaking his head. “Of course you will. But hey, I’m not complaining. Fix it, and I’ll make sure you get the best lunch we’ve got around here.”

Senku smirked, his gaze flickering between Chrome and Gen. "Deal."

The group shifted into motion, Chrome pulling out a rough diagram of the filtration system. As Senku began to work, his hands moved with precision and ease, a quiet hum of concentration filling the air. Chrome watched in awe, while Gen busied himself preparing the space for whatever would come next.

But despite the ease with which Senku approached the task, a part of him remained quiet. Even though he was focused on the work in front of him, his thoughts occasionally wandered back to Tsukasa—wondering when he would return, if he'd even be as pleased with Senku’s progress as he was with his work before.

Gen, sensing the shift in Senku’s energy, nudged him lightly. "Hey, you know, we’ve all got our own things going on. I think Tsukasa will be glad to hear about all this. It’s not just the machines you’re bringing back to life—it’s everything."

Senku blinked, his hands still working despite his distracted thoughts. He didn’t reply right away, but he couldn’t help the small tug of warmth that spread through him at Gen’s words. Maybe… just maybe, things would be okay. Maybe there was more to this place, this group, than he had originally thought.

---

The night had settled in like a thick blanket, the compound quiet save for the occasional buzz of old wiring and the soft scribble of graphite on paper. Senku sat cross-legged on the bed, eyelids heavy, still stubbornly scribbling equations into his notebook. His handwriting had started to slope, almost drunkenly, as fatigue tugged at his limbs, but he refused to put the pencil down. Across from him, Gen lounged against the wall, idly shuffling his cards and watching him with quiet amusement.

The peace didn’t last.

SLAM.

The door burst open with a bang that made Gen jump and Senku snap fully awake.

Chrome stood in the frame, breathless and dripping, his expression pale with alarm. “The filtration system—it gave out again. The lab’s flooding.”

Senku didn’t hesitate. He was already up, notebook forgotten, moving past Gen in a blur.

“Where?” he demanded.

“This way—hurry!”

They ran through the dim halls, their feet slapping against stone as they followed Chrome’s lead. Cold water lapped around their ankles when they reached the lab, and Senku could already see the faint shimmer of damage—tools knocked over, panels shorting out, wires submerged in shallow pools of tainted water.

Senku waded in, scanning the room. Then he saw it: a cut along the tubing, jagged and unmistakably intentional. Not a crack from pressure, not a seal corroded with time.

A cut.

He knelt down, pulled a toolkit off the nearest bench, and began to work in silence. Gen hovered close behind, and Chrome kept wringing his hands, clearly rattled.

“Someone did this,” Chrome finally whispered. “This wasn’t just wear and tear.”

Senku didn’t look up. “I know.”

But no one said a name.

The hiss of restored flow brought a bit of relief, the water pulling back as the backup drains kicked in. The machinery groaned, then steadied. Stable—for now.

And then, a frantic voice echoed down the corridor.

“Someone’s sick! It’s the water—they drank some before we shut it down!”

The air shifted.

Senku froze. Chrome turned pale again. “They’re burning up,” the voice continued, fading as the person ran back down the hallway.

“I—” Chrome started. “I know some basic stuff, but I’m not trained for this kind of thing—I don’t know what to do—”

He turned to Senku, desperate. “You have to help. You know this stuff. You can help.”

Senku’s breath hitched.

The words barely registered. His mind had already begun to fracture beneath the weight of memory—the sterile cold of the old miracle drug lab, white lights and white coats, desperate trials and needles and the pressure to save more than he could. How many had he helped? How many had he failed?

He swayed slightly where he stood, the flood of memory almost louder than Chrome’s voice.

“Senku,” Gen said, gently now. He was closer than before, his voice anchoring.

Senku blinked and looked at them—at the very real fear in Chrome’s eyes, at Gen’s quiet steadiness.

There was no white lab coat here. No clinical walls or corporate chains.

Just people who needed him.

Senku exhaled, shaking the past off his shoulders like dust.

“Take me to them,” he said.

Chrome looked like he might cry from relief.

Gen, without a word, brushed Senku’s wrist with his fingertips in a silent ‘I’ve got you.’

And together, they ran.

The room was dim, crowded with anxious faces and the sharp scent of antiseptic. The sick member lay curled on a makeshift cot, flushed with fever, skin clammy. The air was thick with tension—too many people, too many unanswered questions.

Senku stepped through the threshold—and stopped.

His breath hitched.

The hum of machinery, the beeping of vitals, the sickly glow of fluorescent lights overhead—they weren’t real, not here, but his mind conjured them anyway. The stifling chill of the miracle drug lab. Dozens of cots. Coughing. Crying. Begging. Test tubes clattering on steel trays. The white noise of heartbreak under fluorescent light.

“You're the genius—fix them.”

His knees threatened to give.

His hand twitched at his side, searching for something—anything—to hold on to.

Then—

A warm hand settled gently between his shoulder blades.

Steady. Real.

Gen didn’t say anything. Just stood behind him, his presence quiet, grounding.

Senku blinked. Once. Twice.

The fluorescent ghosts faded. The cold tile dissolved back into worn floorboards. The sterile air became warm and human again.

He inhaled, long and sharp.

Then he moved.

Senku knelt beside the patient, already scanning their condition. He asked for towels, clean water, vinegar—anything available. His voice was steady now, efficient. Chrome rushed to bring what he could, clearly in awe.

With deft hands and focused eyes, Senku worked.

He cooled the fever with makeshift compresses, created a charcoal filtration for the remaining toxins, and carefully administered diluted stabilizers he concocted from the available ingredients. Every movement was precise. Calculated. Relentless.

Whispers filled the room.

“He knows what he’s doing.”

“I’ve never seen anyone work like that…”

“Is he really the one Tsukasa brought in?”

Senku didn’t respond. He didn’t need to. He was in his element now—not just as a scientist, but as a force of calm in chaos.

When the worst of the symptoms began to ease, and the patient’s breathing slowed to something steady, the room finally exhaled with him.

Senku leaned back, exhaling quietly. His hands were still trembling, but the danger had passed.

Chrome stepped forward, voice barely above a whisper. “That was… amazing.”

Gen gave a soft smile, his hand still hovering near Senku’s back just in case. “Told you he was magic.”

The crowd dispersed slowly, murmuring in hushed, reverent tones.

Senku said nothing, eyes fixed on the sleeping patient.

He didn’t smile. But something eased in his chest.

He hadn’t saved everyone back then.

But he’d saved someone tonight.

And that was enough.

Chapter Text

It had been exactly one week since Tsukasa had left.

The compound was quieter now, steadier. Senku had repaired half the failing systems in the west wing, stabilized the lab’s chemical storage, and even saved a life. People spoke his name with a mix of awe and curiosity—until one particular guard didn’t know when to shut up.

Tsukasa stepped from the armored vehicle, cloak still dusted with the road, eyes sharp and focused as he surveyed the area. One of his men, walking beside him, chuckled under his breath.

“Your boytoy’s been real busy while you were gone,” the man said lazily. “Fixed the water system, patched the comms, even healed one of our guys. Kinda scary smart.”

Tsukasa halted.

The title didn’t sit right.

His brow twitched, gaze sliding toward the man, but he kept walking.

“Yeah,” the man went on, oblivious. “Honestly? At this rate, you might wanna lock him down. He’s already got a little boyfriend now—always see him walking hand in hand with that dramatic guy, Gen-something—”

A crack echoed through the hallway.

Tsukasa didn’t speak.

He simply turned.

The man hit the wall with a thud, choking on breath as Tsukasa’s hand fisted his collar and pinned him up by the throat.

“Do not,” Tsukasa said low and lethal, “call him that again.”

The others in the hallway froze. Every breath held.

“Senku is not your entertainment. He’s not a joke. And if I ever hear you—or anyone else—speak about him like that again, you’ll lose more than your voice.”

He let the man drop.

Hyoga stepped forward silently at Tsukasa’s nod, eyes glittering behind his mask. The air shifted. No one dared protest as Hyoga dragged the wheezing man away down the hall, the silence that followed speaking louder than any order ever could.

Still, Tsukasa’s jaw was tense.

‘Gen’s hand?’

The very thought made something cold tighten in his chest.

He didn’t walk—he strode, each step faster, more impatient. Past the training yard, past the courtyard, straight to Senku’s door. He didn’t knock.

But when he pushed the door open—

It was empty.

The bed neatly made. Notes scattered across the desk. A worn pencil still warm in the corner of the notebook.

But no Senku.

And Tsukasa’s stomach twisted.

Tsukasa’s fists clenched at his sides as he turned from the empty room.

‘Where would you go?’

His mind spun through every memory of Senku’s short time here—the sleepless nights, the wary glances, the trembling hands. And then he remembered.

The garden.

The one place Senku hadn’t flinched in. A quiet sanctuary buried behind the east wing. Tsukasa had taken him there on his second day, when the world felt too loud and too unsafe. Senku had barely spoken then, clinging to his notebook like a lifeline.

That had to be it.

His boots moved before his thoughts caught up.

Past the courtyard. Down the winding stone path. Under the archway draped in flowering vines.

But the garden was still.

Empty.

Only the breeze stirred through the herbs and the water basin trickled softly. A lone notebook page fluttered on the bench—a spare schematic Senku must’ve dropped at some point—but no sign of him now.

Tsukasa exhaled sharply through his nose.

Which left only one place.

The lab.

He strode back through the halls with a pace heavy and deliberate, the sound of his boots echoing through the corridor like warning shots. Staff and Familia alike stepped out of the way. Some dared a glance at his expression and instantly regretted it.

He didn’t knock.

The door burst open under his grip, slamming against the wall.

Chrome jumped, nearly knocking over a tray of tools. Gen whirled around from where he stood at a bench, startled, but it was Senku who moved first—instinctively latching onto Gen’s arm.

His fingers curled tightly around the fabric, eyes wide and alert, before they softened once he recognized Tsukasa. Not frightened of him, but by the noise, the suddenness of it. Still, Senku’s grip didn’t release right away.

And that’s when Tsukasa saw it.

Senku wasn’t exhausted.

He wasn’t running on fumes or hiding behind numbness like before.

He was alive.

Flushed with energy, scribbling over notes, bits of oil smeared on his cheek. His eyes glimmered with focus. He looked more himself than Tsukasa had seen.

He should have been glad.

But his gaze drifted to the space between them.

Senku’s hand.

Still holding onto Gen.

Tsukasa’s jaw tensed.

Gen gave a sheepish half-smile, unbothered—or maybe too good at pretending he was.

“Ah, you’re back,” Gen offered casually. “You startled our boy genius.”

Senku finally pulled his hand away, looking a little embarrassed, brushing off the smudge on his face with the back of his wrist. “Tch… could’ve knocked.”

“I did,” Tsukasa said, voice low and unreadable. “With my boot.”

Chrome snorted nervously and quickly busied himself with wires he definitely wasn’t working on a second ago.

Senku tilted his head slightly, studying Tsukasa, as if trying to read what was really going on under that calm surface.

The tension simmered quietly between them. No one spoke.

Not yet.

But Tsukasa’s mind raced

‘What happened while I was gone?’

‘Why wasn’t I here to see this change in him?’

‘Why did it feel like I was already too late?’

Just as the silence threatened to stretch too long—just as Tsukasa’s grip on his own restraint teetered on the edge—Senku moved.

He crossed the room in quick strides, lab coat fluttering slightly behind him, and threw his arms around Tsukasa’s torso in one swift motion.

Tsukasa’s entire body went still.

The world stopped spinning.

His mind blanked.

Senku… hugged him.

It wasn’t a hesitant touch or an awkward pat—it was a real, full-bodied embrace, arms wound around Tsukasa’s waist with surprising strength. Like he’d wanted to do it for a while but never found the moment. Like he wasn’t thinking—just feeling.

For a full second, Tsukasa couldn’t move. Couldn't breathe.

But then…

His arms slowly came up around Senku’s smaller frame, hesitant at first, then firmer—pulling him in.

A quiet, almost incredulous smile tugged at the corner of Tsukasa’s lips. His eyes softened, the furrow in his brow easing. His heartbeat, so loud just a moment ago, began to settle into a steadier rhythm.

Senku tilted his head up, still close, looking slightly embarrassed but too stubborn to back down now. His cheeks had the faintest pink to them.

“…Welcome back,” he said, a little shy, a little breathless.

Tsukasa stared at him, stunned by the gentleness of it all.

By the warmth.

By the fact that Senku had chosen him.

“…I’m back,” Tsukasa murmured, voice low and almost reverent.

Chrome had respectfully turned away. Gen, however, was biting back a fond grin, mouthing a silent “oh my god” before making his exit like a stagehand pulling the curtain.

But Tsukasa didn’t notice.

Because for the first time since returning—hell, maybe for the first time ever—he felt like this place really was home.

Because Senku was here.

And he had run straight into his arms.

With a swift, effortless motion, Tsukasa slid one arm beneath Senku’s knees and the other around his back, lifting him clean off the floor.

Senku let out a sharp, surprised breath, eyes widening as his arms instinctively looped around Tsukasa’s neck. “H-Hey—!”

But he didn’t resist.

He didn’t try to get down.

If anything, he curled just a little closer, flustered but not fighting it. His cheeks were glowing now, that soft, telltale red creeping from the bridge of his nose to the tips of his ears.

Tsukasa raised a brow, the smallest smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. “You weren’t this embarrassed when you sat on my lap last time.”

Senku didn’t answer. Just exhaled—through his nose, hard—and turned his head, as if the gesture alone could hide the deepening shade of red blooming across his face.

Tsukasa chuckled low in his chest, the sound reverberating between them as he strode through the hallway without slowing. He didn’t head toward Senku’s room.

He walked them to his.

The heavy wooden door creaked open, familiar and warm, the space inside smelling faintly of sandalwood and earth. Tsukasa’s room had always felt grounded—rooted. Just like him.

Senku glanced around, then gave Tsukasa a sideways look. “So… what is this? A promotion?”

Tsukasa huffed a soft laugh as he stepped inside, nudging the door shut with his foot behind them. “Something like that.”

He set Senku down gently on the bed, hands lingering a moment longer than necessary at his waist. Their eyes met again, and for a beat, neither spoke.

Tsukasa’s hands lingered at Senku’s waist, his eyes quietly studying every inch of his face—the softened tension in his shoulders, the healthy glow in his cheeks, the spark behind his gaze that hadn’t been there before.

“You’ve changed,” Tsukasa said quietly. “Even in just a week.”

Senku blinked, slightly caught off guard by the observation. “Huh?”

Tsukasa’s voice lowered, barely above a murmur, but there was a slight edge beneath it. “Could this be thanks to Gen?”

There it was.

A flicker of something unspoken in his tone—jealousy, not sharp or possessive, but undeniably there. Tsukasa had always been calm, grounded, confident. But seeing someone else reach Senku in a way he hadn’t… it unsettled something deep in him.

Senku tilted his head a bit, reading between the lines easily. His voice wasn’t teasing when he answered, just sincere.

“I just… want to be useful,” he said. “To everyone. To you.”

Tsukasa blinked, surprised by how straightforward the answer was.

Senku’s eyes lowered, and his fingers toyed with the hem of Tsukasa’s sleeve. “I was tired of just surviving. I needed something real to focus on. Fixing things. Helping where I can. It makes it easier to breathe.”

There was a pause, long and quiet.

Then Tsukasa lowered himself beside Senku, careful, steady. One large hand reached up to brush a few unruly strands of white-blond hair from Senku’s face. “You’ve always been useful,” he said softly. “Even when you couldn’t see it.”

Senku looked up at him, eyes wide and unreadable for a moment. “You mean that?”

“I wouldn’t say it if I didn’t.”

Senku didn’t reply. He simply leaned into Tsukasa’s touch, resting his forehead lightly against his chest. The steady beat of Tsukasa’s heart beneath his ear grounded him more than any lab or blueprint ever could.

Senku let the silence hang between them, his breath slow and steady against Tsukasa’s chest. Then, in a voice barely above a whisper, he spoke:

“You sure know how to make someone feel special.”

Tsukasa looked down at him, a faint furrow between his brows. “What do you mean?”

Senku shifted just enough to meet his gaze. His usually intense red eyes seemed softer now, clouded with doubt, a stark contrast to the certainty they usually held.

“I mean…” He paused, the frown on his face more pronounced than usual. “Were you like this with everyone you saved?”

There was a quiet bitterness in his words, barely there but unmistakable.

“Did they all get this?” Senku gestured around the room, “The garden, the kindness, the… you?” His voice wavered slightly, and he turned his gaze away, focusing on anything but Tsukasa. “Am I just another project you felt sorry for?”

Tsukasa’s heart tightened, the weight of Senku’s words heavy in the air.

“No,” Tsukasa said, his tone firm but gentle, like he was making sure nothing else would get in the way. “You’re the only one.”

Senku didn’t believe him—not fully. It was clear in the way his jaw tightened, in the way his fingers fidgeted with the hem of Tsukasa’s sleeve, in the way he wouldn’t quite meet Tsukasa’s eyes. Those red eyes, always so full of light, were now guarded, as though too much had been exposed.

So Tsukasa reached for him, cupping his face gently, his thumbs brushing just under Senku’s eyes—eyes that had seen far too much, too much for someone so young.

And then, Tsukasa kissed him.

Senku froze at first, startled, his lips slightly parted in surprise. But Tsukasa didn’t hurry, didn’t push. He just held Senku there, steady and calm.

Slowly, Senku leaned in as well.

The kiss was soft, careful—a quiet promise without words.

When they parted, Tsukasa’s voice was a soft murmur near Senku’s lips.

“Is that enough proof that you’re special?”

Senku’s gaze lingered on him, his red eyes wide, searching, as if he wanted to deny it, but couldn’t find the words. He swallowed and whispered:

“…It’s a start.”

Tsukasa smiled at him—a small, sincere smile.

“You’re impossible,” he said quietly.

Senku let out a breath, his lips twitching into a faint smile despite everything. “And you’re frustrating.”

But even as he spoke, he didn’t pull away.

Not from the kiss. Not from Tsukasa’s touch. Not from the quiet truth that was settling in his chest, a warmth he hadn’t expected.

Tsukasa shifted slightly, breaking the comfortable silence between them. His voice, casual at first, carried a quiet tension.

“So, what’s this I’ve been hearing about you having a boyfriend?” he asked, his tone dripping with that subtle jealousy.

Senku blinked, completely caught off guard by the question. "What?" His voice was confused, a frown tugging at his lips as he tried to make sense of it.

Tsukasa’s gaze narrowed just slightly, a hint of something guarded in his eyes. “You and Gen. You’ve been getting pretty close lately. Some of the others think you’re a couple.” His words hung in the air with an edge to them, the jealousy in his tone unmistakable.

Senku let out a quick, disbelieving laugh, though it lacked the usual sharpness. “A boyfriend? Gen?” He tilted his head to the side, looking at Tsukasa with a mixture of confusion and amusement. “No. It’s not like that.”

Tsukasa didn’t seem convinced, his brows furrowing as he studied Senku.

“Then what is it?” he asked, the jealousy creeping back into his voice, despite his efforts to hide it.

Senku hesitated, eyes drifting down for a moment as he gathered his thoughts. “I get... scared sometimes. Without you. Especially after everything that’s happened.” He looked back up at Tsukasa, his expression softening, a touch vulnerable. “Gen’s just been... holding me. Trying to calm me down when it gets too much.”

He gave a small, almost hesitant shrug. “Turns out it helps. It keeps me grounded, especially when things get overwhelming.”

Tsukasa’s expression softened slightly, though the jealousy still lingered in his eyes, not fully gone.

Senku watched him for a moment, then spoke again, quieter now, more serious. “But, Tsukasa... you’re the only one I’d ever look at like that.” His words were steady, the sincerity clear in his tone.

The air between them seemed to settle, and Tsukasa’s gaze softened even more. He didn’t say anything at first, just let the moment hang there for a few heartbeats.

Finally, Tsukasa let out a quiet breath and shook his head, his voice low but warm. “You better not be joking, Senku.”

“I’m not,” Senku replied, a small, almost shy smile curling on his lips as he met Tsukasa’s eyes. “You’re the only one.”

Tsukasa pulls Senku a little closer, his arms wrapping around him with a tenderness that contrasts his usually stoic nature. He holds him as though he never wants to let go, like the very thought of letting Senku slip away is unbearable.

Senku rests his head against Tsukasa’s chest again, the comforting rhythm of his heartbeat grounding him in a way nothing else could. For the first time in what feels like forever, he allows himself to just be, to feel safe, and to let go of all the fears that have been gnawing at him.

Tsukasa’s voice is barely above a whisper, but the sincerity in it cuts through the silence, as soft and steady as his heartbeat. “I can’t imagine a life without you in it.”

Senku feels the words more than hears them. His chest tightens, and for a brief moment, his eyes flutter shut, as if the weight of what Tsukasa just said settles into him like something precious. He’s always been self-sufficient, always prided himself on not needing anyone, but this... this feels different.

“You don’t have to,” Senku murmurs, his voice muffled by Tsukasa’s shirt. He breathes in the familiar scent of him, the feeling of being close to Tsukasa making everything else seem far less important. “I’m not going anywhere.”

A beat of silence passes between them, comfortable and full of meaning. Tsukasa’s arms tighten around him just slightly, as though reaffirming the truth in Senku’s words, and it makes Senku feel something he hasn’t allowed himself to feel in a long time—hope.

Tsukasa leans down, his breath warm against Senku’s ear. “Good,” he says, the word soft, but laden with more than just a simple affirmation. It carries something deeper—something that’s been growing in both of them, unspoken but understood.

Senku pulls back just enough to look up at Tsukasa, meeting his gaze with a soft smile, the kind that feels more real than any smirk he’s ever worn. “You know, for someone who doesn’t show it much, you really have a way of making someone feel like they matter.”

Tsukasa smirks back, but there’s no sarcasm in it—just the warmth of someone who’s finally letting themselves feel the way they’ve always wanted. “You’re the one who matters most.”

The moment is simple, but it feels like everything, and Senku doesn’t need any more words to know that they’re both exactly where they need to be.

---

It was lunchtime, and the air was thick with the comfortable buzz of the midday routine. The scent of freshly prepared food drifted into Tsukasa’s room, the faint rumble of Gen’s footsteps announcing his arrival just before the door creaked open.

“Lunch is served,” Gen’s voice echoed with his usual light-hearted tone as he stepped into the room, carrying a tray stacked with steaming dishes.

Senku’s eyes immediately lit up, the familiar warmth of food bringing a sense of normalcy and comfort to the moment. But before he could reach for the tray, Tsukasa’s voice cut through the air, low and just a little too casual for the occasion.

“So, I take it this is the boyfriend delivering lunch?” His tone was sharp, laced with a touch of bitterness that made it clear he was still harboring that hint of jealousy from earlier.

Senku, who had already been half-turned toward the door, stilled. His lips quirked into a knowing smile as he looked back at Tsukasa. There was something teasing in his gaze, something that softened the playful jab of his next words.

“Boyfriend, huh?” Senku drawled, his voice light with amusement. “I didn’t realize we were labeling things now.”

Tsukasa’s frown deepened slightly, but there was still an unmistakable edge to it—he couldn’t quite hide the possessiveness that lingered in his words. “I’m just saying, it’s pretty obvious that you and Gen have gotten... close.”

Senku’s eyes softened, and his expression shifted from teasing to something a little warmer. He took a step forward, walking toward Tsukasa with a quiet confidence that made his next action all the more unexpected.

Without warning, he cupped Tsukasa’s face gently in his hands, pulling him down for a kiss—slow and soft, just enough to melt away the tension between them. Senku's lips lingered for a heartbeat longer than usual before he pulled back, looking up at Tsukasa with a fond, playful glint in his eyes.

“You’re the only one I’m kissing,” Senku whispered, a smile tugging at the corners of his lips. “But if it makes you feel better, I can call you my boyfriend too.”

Tsukasa blinked, a flush creeping up his neck as the words registered. His frown was gone now, replaced by something softer, though his gaze still held that protective, possessive warmth. “I didn’t need you to say it... but thanks.”

Gen, standing a few feet away with the tray, couldn’t suppress the smile that spread across his face. He leaned against the doorframe casually, his eyes glinting with mischief. “Well, I see you two are adorable as always,” he commented, his grin wide and playful. “But don’t mind me. I’ll just be over here, letting you two enjoy your... ‘boyfriend’ time.”

Senku flashed a quick wink at Gen, clearly unbothered by the teasing. “You’re welcome to join in, Gen,” he said with a sly smile, but it was evident from the way Tsukasa’s arm immediately went around Senku’s waist that the offer was more for show than anything else.

“You’re impossible,” Tsukasa muttered, his voice low but full of affection. He tightened his hold on Senku, as if to silently remind Gen—and anyone else—that Senku was very much his.

Gen merely laughed, shaking his head as he placed the tray down on the bed. “You two are hopeless. But adorable, nonetheless.” He gave them both a playful wink before turning to leave, his voice lingering in the air as he called back, “Enjoy your lunch, lovebirds!”

Once the door closed behind Gen, the room was quiet again, save for the sound of their breathing. Senku relaxed into Tsukasa’s embrace, resting his head against his shoulder as the tension between them finally eased.

“Sometimes, I forget how much you need reassurance,” Tsukasa said softly, his fingers brushing through Senku’s hair in a rare moment of tenderness. “But I don’t mind it... not at all.”

Senku’s voice was almost a whisper, barely audible, but it was sincere. “You’re the only one I want, Tsukasa. Always.”

The unspoken understanding hung in the air, comfortable and solid. And as they settled into the quiet, the warmth of the room and the simple act of being close to one another filled the space between them in a way nothing else could.

Senku sat cross-legged on the bed, the tray of food resting comfortably between him and Tsukasa. The scent of warm rice and savory grilled fish filled the air, and steam curled from the bowl of miso soup nearby. Tsukasa picked up a pair of chopsticks, expertly grabbing a piece of meat and holding it out toward Senku with quiet expectation.

Senku blinked at the offered bite, glancing up from under his lashes. “You’re really going to feed me every bite?” he asked, voice soft, a faint pink tinge coloring his cheeks.

Tsukasa’s expression didn’t waver. If anything, he seemed more resolute. “Yes I do,” he replied, warm and unshakably firm, like the words were law.

Senku looked away quickly, ears going red as he tried—and failed—not to smile. He leaned in, accepting the bite without another word, chewing quietly as Tsukasa watched him with the kind of intensity that could melt glaciers.

“You know,” Senku mumbled after swallowing, still not quite meeting his eyes, “I can use chopsticks just fine.”

“I know,” Tsukasa said with a small smile, already prepping another bite. “But this way, I get to take care of you.”

Senku’s throat worked silently for a moment, clearly unsure what to do with how fast his heart was beating. He dared a glance upward, catching the quiet fondness in Tsukasa’s gaze, and something in his chest softened completely.

The next bite was fish, and Senku leaned forward again without protest this time. He chewed thoughtfully, savoring the flavor—and maybe a little more of the affection behind the gesture.

Tsukasa chuckled under his breath. “See? You’re not even resisting anymore.”

“You wore me down,” Senku muttered. “That, or the food’s just really good.”

Tsukasa smiled, brushing a stray strand of hair away from Senku’s face with his free hand. “I’ll pretend it’s the first one.”

Senku looked like he might say something sarcastic, but instead, he paused. His eyes softened again, and this time he didn’t look away. “...Thank you.”

“For what?” Tsukasa asked, offering him another bite.

“For staying,” Senku said simply. “For being patient with me. For... all of this.”

Tsukasa didn’t respond with words. He simply set the chopsticks down, cupped Senku’s cheek, and leaned forward to press a kiss to his forehead.

“You don’t have to thank me for loving you,” he murmured.

Senku closed his eyes, sinking into the warmth of that touch, and whispered, “Still gonna anyway.”

They finished the rest of the meal like that—quiet, close, and wrapped in the kind of comfort that could only come from a bond that had been tested and proven unshakable.

By the end, Senku didn’t even bother hiding his smile.

And Tsukasa made sure to feed him the very last bite, just to hear that little flustered huff one more time.

As Tsukasa wiped the corner of Senku’s mouth with his thumb—earning yet another breathy grumble from the scientist—he leaned back just a little, watching him with that quiet intensity Senku could never quite handle for long.

“Hey,” Tsukasa said gently, brushing a lock of hair from Senku’s forehead. “What happened with the pipes? Gen mentioned something about sabotage. And someone getting sick because of it?”

Senku’s smile faded a bit, but not entirely. He nodded, leaning back in his seat with a soft exhale.

“Yeah,” he murmured, folding his arms loosely. “Someone tampered with the filtration system. Slipped a corrosion agent into the pipe junctions. By the time we noticed, the damage had already spread.”

Tsukasa’s brows knit together. “That’s dangerous.”

“I know,” Senku said. “We caught it just in time, though. One of the team members started showing symptoms—high fever, dehydration. I isolated them and ran a few tests. The moment I confirmed it was waterborne, I shut everything down.”

Tsukasa didn’t interrupt. He watched him, eyes filled with silent concern as Senku continued.

“I rerouted the system manually, flushed the lines, and rigged up a temporary purifier using spare parts from the lab.” Senku shrugged, then added quietly, “The sick member’s stable now. Fever broke this morning.”

There was a long beat of silence.

Then Tsukasa reached over and took Senku’s hand again, fingers curling firmly around his.

“I’m proud of you,” he said, voice low, full of sincerity. “You saved them, sweetheart.”

Senku blinked. Slowly.

“…What did you just call me?”

Tsukasa smiled, not even trying to hide it now. “Sweetheart. Because you are.”

Senku made a strangled noise and immediately looked away, ears turning an unmistakable pink. “You can’t just drop stuff like that so casually—”

“But it’s true,” Tsukasa murmured, drawing Senku’s hand up and brushing a kiss across his knuckles. “You’ve always been brilliant. But more than that—you care. Even when you pretend not to. You go above and beyond for everyone here, even the ones who don’t deserve it.”

Senku swallowed hard, lips parting like he had something to say, but no words made it out. He looked down at their joined hands.

“…You make it hard to act cool, y’know that?” he muttered, voice low.

“Good,” Tsukasa replied, his smile widening as he tilted Senku’s chin up gently with two fingers. “Because I like you better when you’re soft with me.”

Senku made another noise—more fluster than protest this time—but didn’t pull away.

He just leaned forward, resting his forehead against Tsukasa’s chest, and mumbled against the fabric of his shirt, “…You’re the worst.”

“Still your worst,” Tsukasa chuckled, wrapping his arms around him again.

And for once, Senku didn’t argue.

---

After lunch, Tsukasa had barely set the tray aside before Senku was tugging at his hand.

“Come with me,” Senku said, already halfway off the bed.

Tsukasa arched a brow. “Where?”

“The lab.” Senku tried to keep his tone neutral, but the way he avoided eye contact and fussed with the sleeve of his jacket was a dead giveaway.

Tsukasa rose easily, lacing their fingers together without question. Senku startled slightly at first—then gave his hand the smallest squeeze. No tension. No nerves. Just warmth.

This time, he held Tsukasa’s hand not to steady himself, not to keep the fear at bay… but simply because he wanted to.

The walk to the lab was quiet. Not awkward, just peaceful. The kind of silence where glances meant more than words. Where every brush of fingers spoke of quiet affection.

When they arrived, Senku didn’t waste time. He let go only briefly to dig through one of the cluttered drawers, muttering under his breath about “stupid screws always getting misplaced.” Tsukasa leaned on the counter nearby, watching him with amused fondness.

Finally, Senku straightened and turned around, holding something behind his back.

“Okay, so—listen,” he began quickly, like ripping off a bandage. “This is stupid. It’s small. And it doesn’t really do much—just a little trick I was fiddling with. I don’t even know why I—”

“Senku,” Tsukasa interrupted gently, a small smile tugging at his lips. “What is it?”

With a sigh, Senku stepped closer and held out a small device, no bigger than his palm. It was a delicate metal flower—sleek and simple, with petals made from repurposed fragments of copper and a center that clicked softly when tapped, the petals fluttering open like a blooming mechanism.

“It’s… not impressive,” Senku mumbled, eyes shifting to the floor. “But I made it with you in mind.”

Tsukasa took it carefully, turning it over in his hands. The craftsmanship was unmistakably Senku—precise, purposeful, built with quiet brilliance.

“It’s beautiful,” Tsukasa said, voice low.

Senku’s ears flushed. “It’s just a dumb little thing. Like I said, it doesn’t really do anything—”

“I don’t care,” Tsukasa said, cutting him off with ease. His thumb ran over the little gear that made the petals move. “You made it for me. That’s more than enough.”

Senku finally looked up, and for a moment, he seemed stunned—like he hadn’t quite expected Tsukasa to treasure it. Like maybe, just maybe, he thought it wouldn’t matter.

But Tsukasa reached out and slipped the flower into the inside pocket of his coat, close to his heart.

Then, just as gently, he took Senku’s hand again.

“Thank you,” he said simply.

Senku bit back a smile, but it still shone through his eyes. “Yeah… don’t get used to it.”

“I already have,” Tsukasa teased, leaning down to kiss the top of his head.

And Senku, despite the quiet fluster blooming in his chest, didn’t pull away.

Chapter Text

The dimly lit room hummed with the quiet tension of the ongoing meeting. Around the table sat the heads of rival mafia families, their eyes sharp, their words sharp enough to slice through the thick air. But Senku barely noticed any of it. His attention drifted, his focus wavering as he absently played with the strands of Tsukasa's hair, weaving them around his fingers, a little smile tugging at his lips as he twisted the strands in patterns only he knew.

Tsukasa, of course, didn’t mind. He didn’t need Senku to listen to every word. He never did. Their bond wasn’t about the details; it was about the quiet understanding that flowed between them. His hand rested on Senku’s knee, the weight of it grounding them both in a space that felt infinitely more important than whatever was being discussed at the table.

Despite Senku’s obvious disinterest in the meeting, Tsukasa could sense the moments when the tension in the room would rise, when someone would say something threatening or when an insult would be hurled. He could feel the muscles in Senku’s body stiffen just a fraction, an instinctive reaction. Tsukasa’s thumb would circle his leg just once, a silent reassurance, and Senku would relax again, as if the world’s problems were suddenly much smaller.

“Senku, focus,” Tsukasa murmured, though his voice was gentle. It wasn’t a command—it was a request, just one of those little things that made their bond so unique.

Senku glanced up, eyes half-lidded, and raised a brow. “Focus? On what? You know I don’t care about this stuff, Tsukasa.” He said it without a hint of sarcasm, just matter-of-factly, his fingers still fiddling with Tsukasa’s hair like it was the most interesting thing in the room.

Tsukasa's lips quirked up into a small, amused smile. He could never quite get enough of Senku’s honesty, even if it often meant dismissing the world around them. He couldn’t blame him. It was their world they were focused on, the one they built together. And for now, this meeting, these people, it was just background noise.

“I know,” Tsukasa said, a hint of affection lacing his voice. “But you can’t exactly zone out while I’m handling business.” He looked around the room, his voice steady and commanding. “This is important. We’re about to negotiate with these families. We need to make sure they know who’s in charge.”

Senku snorted, still playing with his hair, his fingers gliding through it with practiced ease. “They already know who’s in charge, Tsukasa. That’s why they’re so quiet when you speak.” He grinned at him, a playful glint in his red eyes.

A few heads around the table shot glances at each other, unsure how to take Senku’s nonchalant tone. Tsukasa’s grip tightened around Senku’s knee, a silent warning, but there was a certain fondness in his eyes as he looked down at him.

“Be careful,” Tsukasa muttered lowly, though his lips were still curled in an almost affectionate way. “They don’t appreciate your... sense of humor.”

Senku shrugged but didn’t stop his absentminded fiddling. “I know. They think I’m some test subject you took pity on. But hey, I’m not the one in charge.” His voice had the faintest tinge of amusement, as if he enjoyed seeing the discomfort his irreverence caused.

Tsukasa leaned in a little, his lips brushing the side of Senku’s ear as he murmured, “I’m not taking pity on you. You’re mine, and that’s all they need to know.”

A slight flush colored Senku’s cheeks at the words, though he kept his cool and turned his head, their noses brushing for a brief moment as he met Tsukasa’s gaze. He gave a teasing smirk, but there was something softer beneath it, a rare vulnerability that Tsukasa had come to treasure. “You make it sound like I’m some... prized possession,” he teased, letting his fingers gently tug at a strand of Tsukasa’s hair.

“You are,” Tsukasa replied, his voice low, his eyes darkening just slightly. “And I’m not afraid to let them know.”

Senku’s heart thumped in his chest at the possessive, tender way Tsukasa said it. He didn’t mind the term; he didn’t mind it at all. Tsukasa didn’t just want to own him in a physical sense—he wanted to protect what was his. And Senku? He liked the idea of being wanted. Loved.

As the discussions at the table rumbled on, Senku lost interest once again, his fingers brushing through Tsukasa’s hair as though the world’s fate was no more complicated than this quiet intimacy. Tsukasa leaned back slightly in his chair, his arm still draped protectively around Senku’s waist, a silent declaration to everyone in the room: This is mine.

Senku’s fingers gently tugged at a lock of Tsukasa’s hair and he whispered, “So, what happens after this little meeting? I’m thinking we could go somewhere... quiet. Just the two of us.”

Tsukasa’s eyes softened, a rare tenderness surfacing. “We’ll go wherever you want, sweetheart.”

And with those words, Senku allowed himself to relax completely, his fingers loosening their hold on Tsukasa’s hair as he settled back against his chest. The business of the mafia world could wait. In this moment, all that mattered was the quiet strength between them.

As the meeting wore on and the last of the negotiations began to wrap up, the room felt more like a cage than a conference. Senku remained draped across Tsukasa’s lap, playing with a lock of his hair as though the outside tension couldn't touch him. But the air shifted when one of Tsukasa’s men stepped forward.

It was one of the newer ones—ambitious, young, and clearly under the illusion that speaking up uninvited was a sign of boldness rather than stupidity.

“With all due respect, boss,” the man began, voice sharp and eyes flicking toward Senku with thinly veiled disdain, “someone like him—a scarred, former lab rat—isn’t worthy of standing beside the king of the underworld. He’s not a symbol of power. He’s a liability.”

The room went still.

Senku froze, fingers halting in Tsukasa’s hair as if the words had cut straight through his chest.

Tsukasa didn’t speak at first. He didn’t have to. The silence around him was enough—so suffocating it made the man shift, unsure of what he’d just stepped into. Then Tsukasa leaned forward ever so slightly, his voice calm, collected, but cold enough to chill the bone.

“Say that again,” he said, tone low.

The man hesitated, pride fighting with fear. “Boss, I’m just saying what others won’t. He doesn’t belong at your side. You’ve built an empire. People respect you. But him? He’s—”

The sound of Tsukasa rising from his seat was quieter than expected, but it carried weight.

Senku had already slipped off his lap, moving aside instinctively. Tsukasa didn’t raise his voice—he never needed to. He stepped forward, gaze dark and unreadable, and said, “You want to talk worth? Then let’s talk worth.”

He gestured to Senku without looking at him. “This man survived hell. Alone. Tortured, tested on, used like a lab rat and still came out with the mind of a genius and the heart of someone better than all of us put together.”

The man flinched.

“You think scars make him weak? You think the pain makes him lesser?” Tsukasa’s voice dropped further, like a blade against skin. “If anyone else had gone through what he has, they’d be dead. Or worse, begging to belong. Senku never begged for anything. He doesn’t need my empire. I need him.”

The room didn’t dare breathe.

“He is not a liability. He is my reason.”

The words hung, heavy and final.

Tsukasa turned back to Senku then—who was standing still, eyes wide, expression unreadable behind the mask he wore so well. But his fingers were clenched, shoulders tight. Tsukasa stepped closer, his voice quiet now, for Senku alone.

“Don’t ever think I regret finding you.”

Senku looked away at first, jaw tight. “You don’t have to say that just because—”

“I’d burn the world,” Tsukasa said, reaching out, cupping Senku’s cheek gently. “I would tear down this entire empire if even one person tried to take you from me.”

Senku blinked, lips parting slightly like he was trying to form words but had forgotten how to speak. His voice, when it finally came, was smaller than it should have been. “You mean that?”

Tsukasa leaned in until their foreheads touched, his thumb brushing over one of the old scars by Senku’s temple. “You’re not a weakness. You’re my anchor. My love. My proof that I still have a soul left in this dark world.”

For a long moment, Senku just stood there, swallowing hard, his breath catching as something unspoken cracked inside him.

Then, softly, shakily, “...I hate you when you say things like that.”

Tsukasa smirked. “You’re blushing again.”

“Shut up.” Senku ducked his head, face flushed and heart racing. But he didn't pull away. Didn’t hide.

He just stayed close, letting Tsukasa's hand cradle him there, letting the whole damn room see who he really belonged to—and that he wasn’t afraid of it anymore.

As the last of the rival families filtered out, tension trailing in their wake like smoke, the atmosphere finally shifted. The room emptied, quiet settling in like a long exhale. But Senku remained right where he had been the whole time—perched on Tsukasa’s lap, his fingers now absentmindedly playing with the collar of Tsukasa’s coat.

He tilted his head, the side of his cheek brushing Tsukasa’s shoulder as he muttered, “You remember where we’re supposed to go now, right? Just the two of us. Don’t think you’re wriggling out of it.”

Tsukasa looked down at him with that soft, amused gleam in his eyes. “Of course I remember.”

Senku smirked faintly, only to squeak—not that he’d ever admit to the sound—as Tsukasa stood up without warning, lifting him effortlessly into his arms.

“Wha—” Senku started, but instinct kicked in quicker than his pride could catch up. He automatically wrapped his arms around Tsukasa’s neck and ducked his head down slightly, his cheeks going pink. “Y-You didn’t have to carry me…”

“I wanted to,” Tsukasa said simply, already walking.

Senku huffed, but he didn’t struggle. He never did, not with Tsukasa. Instead, he relaxed bit by bit as they made their way through the hall, his fingers lightly drumming against the back of Tsukasa’s shoulder. The tension from earlier meetings was already melting away.

Tsukasa pushed open a glass door at the end of a quiet corridor.

Sunlight spilled in like liquid gold.

The conservatory was breathtaking. Floor-to-ceiling glass, sunlight pooling across marble tiles, and lush greenery everywhere—vines trailing down trellises, flowers in full bloom, hanging plants swaying gently with the warm breeze from a skylight above. It felt like stepping into a secret garden pulled out of a forgotten world.

Tsukasa finally set Senku down on a bench nestled between two flowering trees.

Senku blinked slowly, the warmth soaking into his skin, the scent of blooming jasmine and earth grounding him. He slouched back against Tsukasa, who sat right beside him, long legs stretched out like a king still on his throne—just in a much greener palace.

Senku gave a small, sleepy hum, eyelids fluttering. “You’re such a closet plant dad.”

Tsukasa looked down at him, an unbothered smile tugging at his lips. “I’m not hiding it.”

“Sure you’re not,” Senku mumbled, already starting to nod off against Tsukasa’s shoulder. “You act all brooding and bloodstained, but then you secretly grow orchids.”

Tsukasa chuckled, low and warm, reaching over to gently pluck a small, vivid bloom from a nearby bush. He leaned in and tucked it behind Senku’s ear, careful not to wake him fully.

Senku cracked one eye open at the touch. “...Sappy.”

“Only for you.”

Senku didn’t answer—not with words, anyway. His lips curled into the softest smile before he gave in and let his eyes slip shut completely, a quiet, content breath escaping him as Tsukasa slid his arm around his waist and held him close beneath the golden light and swaying green.

The king of the underworld, and his sleepy scientist, tucked away in a hidden garden where nothing else mattered.

---

The gentle rustle of leaves and the soft hum of sunlight through glass wrapped around them like a warm cocoon. Senku remained tucked against Tsukasa’s side, quiet and drowsy, but not asleep. His head rested just under Tsukasa’s chin, fingers lazily tracing idle shapes along Tsukasa’s thigh.

For a while, neither of them spoke. The silence was comfortable, peaceful.

But eventually, Senku stirred, voice barely above a whisper.

“Tsukasa…”

“Mhm?” Tsukasa glanced down, brushing his thumb across Senku’s knuckles.

Senku hesitated for a second, then looked up, red eyes serious but soft. “Your sister. Mirai.”

Tsukasa’s expression didn’t shift immediately, but Senku could feel the stillness that settled into him.

“I... I’d like to meet her. When you’re ready.”

Tsukasa was quiet, gaze flicking away for the briefest moment. “You sure?”

Senku nodded slowly, fingers curling around Tsukasa’s hand. “I know I can’t fix everything. But… I want to try. If there’s even a chance I can help, I want to.”

There was no bravado in his tone, no cocky certainty. Just quiet hope. That same gentle determination that made Tsukasa fall in love with him in the first place.

Tsukasa exhaled softly, thumb brushing against Senku’s hand again in a slow rhythm. “She’d like you,” he said, a small smile tugging at his lips. “You’d talk her ear off.”

Senku snorted under his breath. “Probably.”

A beat passed. Then Tsukasa added, quieter, “I’ll take you soon. I promise.”

Senku only nodded, resting his head back against Tsukasa’s chest.

The silence returned—not empty, not heavy. Just full of unspoken things, shared warmth, and the kind of trust that didn’t need to be explained.

The sun was gentle that morning, spilling gold over the conservatory floor as Tsukasa knelt beside a row of fresh soil beds, sleeves rolled up, hands already dirt-stained in the way he didn’t seem to mind.

Senku, on the other hand, crouched a safe distance away, holding a trowel like it might betray him.

"This is beneath my intellect," he muttered, squinting suspiciously at the small gardening plot.

Tsukasa chuckled, glancing up at him with soft amusement. “You create machines that could colonize Mars, but dirt scares you?”

“It’s not the dirt. It’s the unpredictability of biological variables,” Senku sniffed. “Completely inefficient. Why does this even matter?”

Tsukasa only smiled, patting the spot beside him. “Because it teaches patience. And care. And it makes you slow down—just a little.”

Grumbling, Senku reluctantly joined him. It was messy, chaotic, and absolutely not his style. He overwatered one seedling, crushed another trying to “gently pat it down,” and nearly declared the entire endeavor an affront to science.

But then, somewhere between frustrated sighs and annoyed muttering, he noticed a tiny green sprout pushing through the soil. Just one. Defiant. Clinging to life like it had something to prove.

And that was all it took.

“Okay. This one? This one I like,” Senku declared, now crouched low, inspecting the little shoot with intense scrutiny. “It’s stubborn. I respect that.”

Tsukasa arched an eyebrow, watching Senku with amusement. “You’ve named it, haven’t you?”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Senku said—and then, without looking up, added, “His name is Chloroboi. And if anything happens to him, I’m burning this entire building down.”

Tsukasa laughed so hard he nearly dropped his watering can. “You’ve had him for five minutes.”

“Six,” Senku corrected primly, already shading the sprout from the sun with one hand. “And he’s got potential. Just needs the right care.”

Tsukasa leaned over and pressed a kiss to the side of Senku’s temple. “You’re ridiculous.”

“And yet, here you are, in love with me,” Senku replied, deadpan—his hand still hovering protectively over Chloroboi like a paranoid bodyguard.

Tsukasa didn’t deny it. Just smiled as he watched Senku fuss over the tiny sprout like it held the secrets of the universe.

Senku let out a long, dramatic sigh as Tsukasa scooped him up without warning.

“Hey—! I didn’t even say goodbye to Chloroboi,” he grumbled, arms instinctively wrapping around Tsukasa’s neck as the taller man carried him bridal-style out of the conservatory.

Tsukasa didn’t break stride. “He’ll survive a few hours without his overprotective helicopter parent.”

“You don’t know that,” Senku huffed, glaring half-heartedly at Tsukasa’s chest. “The sun was getting too direct. He needs a better shading angle or he might—”

“Senku,” Tsukasa interrupted gently, a smirk tugging at his lips. “It’s time to go.”

And just like that, Senku fell quiet, save for the quiet, defeated mumble of, “You’re lucky you’re hot.”

Tsukasa only chuckled, stepping into the sun-drenched hallway of the mansion. His footsteps were quiet over the marble, the soft light bouncing off the walls as he carried Senku toward the far wing—toward their room. The idea still made Senku’s chest feel a little strange. He wasn’t used to sharing space, let alone a bed, but with Tsukasa… it wasn’t as terrifying as it should’ve been.

By the time they stepped through the doorway and into the warm, familiar space of Tsukasa’s bedroom—their bedroom—Senku had stopped sulking and started relaxing again. The earthy smell of Tsukasa’s cologne lingered in the room, the soft sheets turned down, the plants on the windowsill thriving under his care. It was oddly peaceful for the den of the most feared man in the underworld.

Tsukasa set him down on the bed with ridiculous gentleness, brushing a hand through Senku’s hair before leaning down to press a kiss to his cheek.

Senku mumbled, cheeks faintly pink, “Still think Chloroboi’s going to miss me.”

Tsukasa only smiled, brushing his thumb along Senku’s jaw. “Maybe. But I’m sure I’ll keep you plenty distracted.”

Senku rolled his eyes, flopping back against the pillows with a soft groan. “You’re the worst.”

“You love me,” Tsukasa said, smug.

And, in the quiet of the bedroom, Senku didn’t argue. Not this time.

Their eyes locked in that still, quiet moment—everything unsaid heavy in the air between them.

Tsukasa reached out, his touch gentle as he tilted Senku’s chin up, eyes lingering on him with a softness that didn’t quite match his usual composed, commanding self. And then he leaned in.

The kiss was slow, not rushed, not desperate—just deep, certain, and anchored in everything they’d been through. Senku’s breath hitched the second their lips met, his fingers curling loosely into the sheets beneath him, grounding himself against how warm, how real it all felt.

When they finally parted, Tsukasa didn’t say anything—he didn’t have to. He simply kept looking at him like Senku was the only thing that existed in the world.

Senku flushed, a grumble on the edge of his tongue, but it died the moment Tsukasa’s hands found the buttons of his shirt. One by one, they slipped undone under Tsukasa’s deliberate fingers. He moved slowly, methodically, never breaking eye contact, never letting Senku look away—even as Senku’s blush crept from his cheeks to his chest.

“Tsukasa—” he started, a bit breathless.

But Tsukasa didn’t answer. He slid the shirt from Senku’s shoulders, revealing pale skin mapped with old scars—each one a chapter of pain, survival, endurance. To Tsukasa, they were more than marks. They were proof that Senku had lived, had fought, and had endured long enough to reach him.

He leaned down and pressed a kiss to the first scar near Senku’s collarbone. Then another, just below it. Then another—each kiss slower than the last. His lips moved like a vow across Senku’s skin: to protect, to cherish, to love. Not a single scar was ignored.

Senku trembled—not from nerves, not from fear, but from the sheer intensity of it. The quiet devotion. The reverence.

“I—” he whispered, voice cracking with the weight of feeling, “—you’re not even saying anything…”

Tsukasa finally looked up at him, his thumb brushing along Senku’s cheekbone.

“I don’t need to,” he murmured. “You already know.”

And Senku did.

God help him, he did.

Tsukasa leaned in again, one large hand cradling the side of Senku’s face like he was something rare—precious. Their lips met, and this time it wasn’t slow or measured.

It was deep. Fierce. A surge of heat between them as Senku let out a soft gasp against Tsukasa’s mouth, fingers gripping his arms as the world narrowed down to nothing but touch, breath, and sensation.

Tsukasa kissed him like he was memorizing him, like he didn’t want to waste a second. His hands skimmed down Senku’s sides, drawing shivers in their wake. Senku didn’t even try to hide the sounds that slipped past his lips—soft, broken things that made Tsukasa press even closer, mouths moving with heated hunger.

Just as Tsukasa’s hand slipped behind Senku’s back to pull him flush against him, a sharp knock shattered the haze.

Senku immediately stiffened in Tsukasa’s arms, breath caught in his throat. “Shit—”

Tsukasa exhaled through his nose, annoyed but calm. He didn’t pull away from Senku completely—just pressed their foreheads together, grounding him with a low murmur. “It’s locked,” he said softly. “No one’s coming in.”

Outside, Gen’s voice filtered through the thick door, cheerful but edged with urgency. “Boss~ sorry to interrupt your very private time, but we’ve got an issue with one of the supporting families. They’re demanding a meeting. Apparently, something’s stirred them up and they want a direct word.”

Senku groaned, burying his face against Tsukasa’s shoulder with a grumble. “Of course they do.”

Tsukasa gently stroked his back, sighing. “We’ll handle it.”

“You think they’ll wait twenty minutes?” Senku muttered half-heartedly, already knowing the answer.

A muffled, overly dramatic “I heard that~” came from behind the door.

Tsukasa let out a low chuckle, pressing a kiss to Senku’s temple. Just as he started to shift, Senku caught his sleeve, eyes still a little hazy but determined.

“I’m coming with you,” he said quietly, voice rough around the edges but sure. “I want to.”

Tsukasa paused, gazing down at him—and when Senku looked up with that flushed face and those stormy, pleading eyes, there was no way he could refuse.

A sigh escaped him, fond and defeated. “How am I supposed to say no to that pretty face?”

Senku’s lips curled into a soft smirk as he sat up, still visibly flustered but pleased. “You’re not.”

---

The meeting room was thick with tension and the weight of desperate pleas. Tsukasa sat tall, his presence calm but absolute in the center of it all. And, perched lazily across his lap, Senku—disinterested to the untrained eye—was idly weaving his fingers through Tsukasa’s long hair, like it was the most pressing thing in the world.

The illusion shattered slightly when the sound of shuffling and a broken voice echoed below. A man knelt on the marble floor, forehead nearly touching the ground as he begged—desperate, raw. “Please... protect my daughter. She has nowhere else to go.”

That made Senku pause, blinking slowly. His fingers stilled in Tsukasa’s hair, head tilting ever so slightly, finally giving the scene before them his attention.

Tsukasa’s gaze flicked down to the man briefly, then turned to Senku. His voice was smooth, laced with warmth that contrasted the cold edge of the meeting room. “What do you think, sweetheart?”

Senku’s cheeks flushed instantly, the nickname never failing to get a reaction. He cleared his throat and clicked his tongue softly, trying to keep his voice unaffected—even though he absolutely was.

“Tch. Asking me like that while I’m sitting in your lap? You know exactly what you’re doing.”

Tsukasa only smiled.

Senku huffed, but his eyes dropped to the man and his expression grew thoughtful. He wasn’t one for sentiment, but... logically speaking, taking in one girl wouldn’t drain their resources or compromise their safety. Especially not if she was just being sheltered.

He let out a low sigh. “It wouldn’t hurt. One person’s not gonna crumble your empire.”

Then, muttering under his breath as he leaned against Tsukasa’s shoulder, he added, “Just don’t start collecting kids like stray cats. I’m not building a daycare.”

Tsukasa chuckled softly, his hand settling over Senku’s protectively. “Noted.”

Senku definitely hadn’t accounted for this.

When the door opened and the so-called daughter stepped in, it was not the frightened, innocent girl Senku had imagined. No. Minami Hokutozai strode in with the confidence of someone who knew her worth—and knew exactly how to wield it. Curvy, composed, and dressed in something that was way too flattering for a negotiation like this, she offered a graceful bow… and then her eyes landed on Tsukasa.

“Oh,” she said, with a smile that was far too smooth. “So you’re the king I’ve been offered protection under?”

Senku raised an eyebrow from his usual perch on Tsukasa’s lap, eyes narrowing in slow realization.

Tsukasa gave a polite nod, his tone even. “You must be Minami. We’ll make sure you’re safe.”

“I’m very grateful,” she said, her eyes lingering on Tsukasa a second too long. “It’s not every day a girl ends up under the protection of someone so… strong.”

Senku’s hand, which had been combing lazily through Tsukasa’s hair, paused mid-motion. His entire body stilled.

Minami took a step closer, completely disregarding the fact that Senku was literally sitting on Tsukasa like a throne, and tilted her head with a coy smile. “You know… if there’s anything I can do to repay the kindness—”

“—You could start by acknowledging the person on his lap,” Senku cut in smoothly, tone light but laced with unmistakable venom. His eyes, sharp and unimpressed, flicked toward her. “You’re blocking my light.”

Minami blinked, surprised for a half-second, before composing herself with a laugh. “Oh, of course. I didn’t mean any disrespect.”

Tsukasa, silent through the exchange, casually wrapped an arm around Senku’s waist—not possessive, just... anchoring. A subtle reminder.

Senku leaned in close to Tsukasa’s ear, just loud enough for him to hear, and muttered with a smile, “Next time you ask my opinion, maybe warn me if the ‘helpless daughter’ is a man-eater in heels.”

Tsukasa chuckled lowly, brushing his nose against Senku’s temple. “You jealous, sweetheart?”

Senku didn’t answer. But his fingers threaded tighter into Tsukasa’s hair.

Tsukasa didn’t need words. He was already grinning.

---

Minami’s advances didn’t stop after the meeting.

The very next day, she sent an elegantly handwritten letter requesting a private lunch with Tsukasa—purely to “discuss the terms of her safety,” she claimed. Senku snorted when the note arrived.

“She could’ve just asked in front of me like everyone else,” he muttered, arms crossed as Tsukasa read it over.

Tsukasa didn’t even look up. “Should I burn it or frame it?”

Senku rolled his eyes, turning away with a grumble. “You’re insufferable.”

He burned it.

But that didn’t stop her. She started running after Tsukasa in the halls—too conveniently crossing paths every time he left a room. She would bat her lashes, toss her hair, and lay it on thicker with each interaction.

“You’re always so busy,” she’d purr. “Surely even the King of the Underworld needs a break. I know a place—”

“I already have one,” Tsukasa would say calmly, every time, cutting her off before she could finish. “And it looks like this.”

He’d hold up his phone—lock screen: a blurry candid of Senku asleep on his shoulder.

Minami would laugh it off, but the gleam in her eyes never quite faded.

It wasn’t until later—when Tsukasa and Senku were in the garden, finally stealing some peace together—that things took a turn.

Senku was crouched beside his stubborn little sprout, brow furrowed in intense concentration. Tsukasa was beside him, quietly repotting a new cluster of seedlings. It was a sun-drenched haven of warmth and green, their little world far removed from the chaos of the mansion.

Which, of course, meant Minami had to find them.

She burst in like a gust of cold wind, her heels crunching the gravel, her voice breathless. “Tsukasa—sorry—urgent matter, I had to find you!”

Senku stood slowly, brushing dirt off his fingers. His eyes narrowed. “What, you couldn’t have gone through the actual security line like a normal person?”

“It’s about my father,” Minami said, ignoring him entirely, eyes locked on Tsukasa. “He’s received a threat. He’s panicking. He won’t speak to anyone but you.”

Senku blinked. Right. Of course.

He turned to Tsukasa. “I’m not going.”

Tsukasa looked at him with that unreadable calm of his. “You sure?”

Senku crossed his arms, jaw tight. “She tracked us down here. You think she’s not using her father to try getting alone time with you again? I’m not playing along.”

Tsukasa nodded once and reached for Senku’s hand. “I’ll make it quick.”

Senku’s fingers twitched at his side. His jaw flexed once, then again. He didn't want to make a scene—but Minami had already done that. She’d tracked them down, invaded their one quiet space, and now she was standing there, looking smug, like she belonged here.

And maybe that’s what finally snapped something in him.

“…Okay,” Senku said coolly.

Then he stepped forward, grabbed Tsukasa by the collar of his shirt, and yanked him down into a kiss.

Tsukasa didn’t resist. Not for a second.

His hand slid to Senku’s back, pulling him closer. The kiss deepened fast—breathless, possessive, all sharp teeth and soft sighs. Senku's hand clenched tighter in his shirt as he kissed him like he had something to prove.

The world fell away, even the garden seemed to quiet, reduced to nothing but the rustle of leaves and the slick heat between their mouths.

When they finally broke apart, a thin string of saliva still connected them, catching the sunlight like silk. Senku’s eyes were half-lidded, lips red and kiss-swollen, chest rising with shallow breaths.

He turned his head slowly—deliberately—and locked eyes with Minami.

And smirked.

That smug, cocky glint in his eye told her everything.
He belonged here. She didn’t.

Then, with a casual hand, Senku released Tsukasa’s collar and stepped back, saying sweetly, “You better not take too long, darling. You know how impatient I get.”

Tsukasa just smiled. Silently. But oh, the way his gaze lingered on Senku’s lips said more than words ever could.

Minami looked like she’d swallowed a lemon.

Tsukasa turned and walked with her, business as usual. But he didn’t get more than five steps before he pulled out his phone and texted a single line to the man he left behind:

“I’ll make it five minutes. Hold that look for me.”

---

The garden had gone still in that strange, eerie way it always did when the sun started to shift west. The warmth was still there, the flowers still blooming, the stubborn little sprout still standing tall in its pot—but Senku’s fingers had long since stilled.

He sat cross-legged in the dirt, elbows on his knees, chin resting in one hand as his mind spiraled. Thirty minutes. Thirty. Tsukasa never took this long when he said “five.”

And it wasn’t even that Senku didn’t trust him. He did. Tsukasa had never let any woman close enough to so much as flirt. His distance, his loyalty—it was fierce and unshakable, always reserved for Senku and only Senku.

But Minami…

She was bold.

Brazen in a way that pushed past polite society and dove headfirst into Senku’s patience. She’d flirted in front of him, like he wasn’t even there, and now she had Tsukasa alone.

Senku’s jaw tightened.

The longer he sat there, the louder his thoughts got. By the thirty-minute mark, he couldn’t take it anymore.

“Forget this,” he muttered, pushing to his feet and brushing off his pants. His sprout would survive a few hours without him.

He headed to the lab, finding Chrome exactly where he expected him—up to his elbows in a new experiment, goggles fogged and hair wilder than usual.

Chrome looked up when Senku walked in, arching a brow. “Thought you were off having a garden date with Tsukasa.”

Senku didn’t even glance over. “Got boring.”

“Uh-huh.”

Chrome didn’t push further. He just scooted over on the bench and made space, handing Senku a spare pair of gloves and a teasing grin.

“You wanna distract yourself with science until your mafia boyfriend stops playing bodyguard to princess clingy?”

Senku slid the gloves on, grabbed the nearest set of beakers, and muttered, “You talk too much.”

But he stayed. And buried himself in experiments. And for the next hour, he didn’t think about Minami’s perfect posture or her endless excuses or the way she looked at his Tsukasa like she was entitled to something she would never have.

It had been two hours.

Not that Senku was counting. Except he was. Exactly. To the minute.

He hadn’t touched his phone, which Tsukasa gave, not once. It sat face-down on the edge of the workbench, accusing him every time his eyes flicked in its direction. He could’ve texted. He could’ve called. But he didn’t.

Because if Tsukasa was handling a crisis, he didn’t want to be a distraction.

And if he wasn’t… well. Senku didn’t want to hear some excuse about being “cornered” by Minami again.

His lips quivered. Not from sadness. From pure, smoldering annoyance.

He scowled down at his notes, scribbling out half an equation with a little too much force. The ink bled. The pen snapped. Chrome blinked.

“Uh, Senku? You just wrote the atomic number of helium as forty-two.”

Senku froze. He looked at the paper. Then at Chrome.

“I did not.”

“You did.”

A beat of silence.

“...I hate everyone.”

Chrome tried not to smile. “Okay, yeah, that’s fair.”

Senku dropped the pen and rubbed at his temple, frustration prickling down his spine like an electrical surge.

He was never like this. He didn’t get distracted. He didn’t mess up formulas. He didn’t feel things this loudly—not unless he was shouting at someone over poor lab technique or bad math.

But this wasn’t about logic. This was about Tsukasa.

And how, for the first time, Senku felt like maybe he wasn’t enough to pull Tsukasa away from someone determined to take him.

That thought soured in his chest like acid.

Chrome offered him a bottle of water, like one might offer a pissed-off stray cat. “Look… I’m sure he’s not doing anything shady. Tsukasa’s a one-man type. You know that.”

Senku didn’t respond.

He didn’t want to be reassured.

He just wanted his Tsukasa back.

Chapter Text

Just as Senku felt all hope was slipping into a pit of sun-deprived science-induced despair, the lab door burst open with the theatrical flair of a man who'd never once entered a room quietly.

“Yoo-hoo~ I’m here to check up on Senku-chan!”

Senku blinked once.

Then twice.

Then, in a flurry of movement that surprised even himself, he crossed the lab in three long strides and threw himself into Gen’s arms.

Gen stumbled back with a startled laugh. “Wha—?! Is this real?! Senku, are you hugging me?”

“It’s not for you,” Senku grumbled into Gen’s jacket. “I just need to squeeze something before I break something.”

“Aw~ I’ll take it,” Gen cooed, patting Senku’s back with mock sympathy, though his grin was anything but fake. “Poor little genius had a meltdown, huh?”

Chrome looked up from across the table, watching the scene like it was a nature documentary.

Senku groaned and shoved himself away with a scowl. “You’re insufferable.”

“And you’re emotionally constipated, but here we are.” Gen’s eyes sparkled. “You know what helps me every time I feel the crushing weight of the world on my shoulders?”

“Cyanide?” Senku deadpanned.

Gen gasped. “Close! But no—makeovers.”

Senku blinked, unimpressed. “Hard pass.”

“Oh come on, Senku-chan.” Gen laced their arms together before Senku could escape. “You look like you’ve been chewing on glass and rage for an hour. Let Mama Gen fix it.”

“I don’t need fixing. I need a nap and a boyfriend who isn’t being hunted by Blonde Disaster Barbie.”

“And you’ll still have those things after a skincare mask and some emotionally symbolic outfit changes. Let’s go.”

“Gen—”

But Gen was already dragging him toward the door, humming some ridiculous pop tune under his breath. Senku resisted for a grand total of three seconds before letting out a sharp sigh and giving in.

“…If you put glitter on me, I’m setting your shampoo on fire.”

Gen just winked. “Deal.”

Gen dragged Senku down hallways he hadn’t walked before—ones that twisted away from Tsukasa’s territory and deeper into the quieter parts of the estate. Senku frowned the whole way, arms crossed, heels dragging more out of protest than real resistance.

“I’m telling you, this is a bad idea.”

Gen just kept walking, his grip ironclad. “It’s not. You trust me, don’t you?”

“No.” Senku deadpanned.

“Ok fair, but!” Gen said, stopping in front of a pale blue door with pressed flowers sealed in the wood, “you’re going to love her. Promise.”

Senku raised a brow. “Who?”

Gen smiled. “You’ll see.”

With no more warning, Gen pushed the door open.

Soft, natural light poured into the hallway, and Senku squinted as they stepped inside. The room smelled like lavender and fresh linen, with bolts of fabric stacked in every corner and tiny trinkets hanging from the ceiling. It was warm. Lived-in. Gentle in a way Senku rarely encountered.

And standing in the center of it all was a woman—sweet-faced, hair tied back with pins, a measuring tape looped around her neck like a stethoscope.

“Oh!” she gasped the moment she saw them. “You’re here!”

Before Senku could retreat, she was in front of him, taking both of his hands in hers with that kind of reverence that caught him completely off guard.

“I’m so happy to meet you,” she said, her voice soft but practically glowing. “I’m Yuzuriha. Gen told me you might stop by, but I didn’t think it would be today.”

Senku blinked at her. “You’re very… enthusiastic.”

She laughed, shyly, squeezing his hands. “Sorry. I’m just grateful. You saved Taiju, my boyfriend—the one who got sick during the water system sabotage. Gen told me you were the one who stabilized him. If there’s anything I can do to help, please let me.”

Senku stared. For once, he had nothing to say.

Yuzuriha beamed. “Now! Should we start with skincare or outfits?”

Senku gave Gen the driest look in his entire arsenal.

“I hate you.”

“Flattery!” Gen chirped.

And just like that, Senku found himself being ushered into the coziest room he’d ever seen, surrounded by fabrics, potions, lotions, and—God help him—two people who clearly had plans.

Before Senku realized it, he was sitting between Gen and Yuzuriha on a plush couch, a thick, cooling facial mask slathered across his face. The room was soft and filled with the gentle sound of “Legally Blonde” playing in the background, much to Senku’s surprise. He had expected some sort of serious discussion or lab experiment, but instead, he was here—wearing a face mask and passively staring at a movie about a sorority girl trying to get into Harvard Law.

“I’m not sure how we got here,” Senku muttered, adjusting his mask, the gooey texture making his skin feel oddly cool.

Yuzuriha giggled beside him, dabbing at her own mask. “You’re so cute with it on. Not a lot of guys would do this for a makeover day!”

Senku grunted, unsure how to feel about that compliment. “I didn’t sign up for this. I was dragged here by him,” he shot a side-eye at Gen.

Gen, ever the troublemaker, merely shrugged and crossed his arms with an air of self-satisfaction. “Well, you said you needed to destress, and I’m nothing if not accommodating. Besides, I have no shame about pampering myself.”

Senku rolled his eyes but let it go, half-watching the movie in front of him. He wasn’t exactly invested, but he could admit it was a strange comfort to sit here with the two of them. It was light. Relaxing. The chaos of the mansion, of Minami’s flirtations, seemed to feel a bit more distant, if only for a moment.

As the movie progressed, Senku found himself fidgeting a bit, lost in his thoughts. He couldn’t help but feel a gnawing irritation building again. Tsukasa. It wasn’t just Minami anymore—it was the time. It was the fact that Tsukasa was out there, dealing with all of this, while Senku was left behind. He wanted his attention. He needed it.

He sighed, muttering low under his breath. “I just wish Tsukasa’s attention was on me all the time.”

Gen and Yuzuriha both froze, their eyes locking in an almost predatory gleam. They turned to each other, an unspoken agreement between them. Yuzuriha nearly bounced in place. “Oh my god, Senku!” she exclaimed, her voice full of excitement. “That’s it!”

Senku blinked, his mask slipping slightly as his brows knitted in confusion. “What? What’s it?”

Both Gen and Yuzuriha leaned in, their faces far too excited for his liking. Gen’s grin was a little too wide for Senku’s comfort. “We’ve got it! A real makeover. A Tsukasa-approved makeover.”

Senku’s stomach dropped. “What do you mean ‘Tsukasa-approved’?”

Yuzuriha clapped her hands together. “Oh, you’ll see! If you want him to notice you, really notice you, we’re going to give you the kind of look that makes him go crazy. Trust me.”

“Yeah,” Gen added, wiggling his fingers in the air. “We’ll give you the glow-up of your life. Tsukasa won’t be able to resist.”

Senku gaped. “No. Absolutely not. I don’t need a makeover. I need scientific answers, not… this.”

But it was too late. Gen and Yuzuriha had already begun discussing what color to dye his hair, what kind of outfits would make him look ‘more alluring,’ and how they could enhance his ‘natural chemistry.’

Senku, who had been forcibly dragged into this whole ‘pampering’ scenario, now found himself stuck in a whirlwind of beauty tips and playful plotting, his protests lost in the mix.

“I’m not doing this,” he tried again, but there was no stopping their momentum.

“We’re going to make you irresistible,” Yuzuriha promised.

Gen winked. “I’ll make sure we keep the scientific part intact. Just a little… enhancement.”

Senku could only sit back, resigned and bewildered, as they moved forward with their plans. His usual calmness was crumbling under the barrage of enthusiastic suggestions. But deep down, there was a small part of him, a tiny ember, that was genuinely curious to see what this would turn into.

And if it made Tsukasa look at him with that same intense gaze he always had? Well, maybe—just maybe—he could see the point in it after all.

The credits of Legally Blonde had long since rolled off the screen, replaced now by the soft, melodic tunes from the Barbie movie soundtrack drifting lazily through the speakers. The lighting had dimmed into something warm and hazy, the kind of golden glow that made everything feel slower, gentler.

Senku sat cross-legged on a plush stool in front of Yuzuriha’s vanity, his eyes closed as instructed. His face was still faintly cool from the mask they'd removed earlier, and the soft tickle of a brush against his eyelids made him hum under his breath.

Yuzuriha, tongue poking slightly out in focus, lined his eyes with a careful hand. “Almost done,” she whispered like it was a sacred act. “Just a little flick.”

Senku didn’t move—partly because she’d told him not to, and partly because… he kind of didn’t want to. For all the teasing and dramatics, it was genuinely… relaxing. The scent of lavender oils in the air, the faint shimmer of something being dabbed at the corners of his eyes, and—

“Hold still, science prince,” Gen muttered behind him, gently coaxing another section of Senku’s wild hair down into place. His fingers were deft, far more careful than Senku would’ve ever expected, threading through the strands with ease. “You said Tsukasa likes your hair down, right? We’re giving him a reason to never let you put it up again.”

Senku cracked an eye open lazily. “You’re enjoying this too much.”

“Obviously,” Gen said, grinning. “This is the most fun I’ve had all week. Besides, you look gorgeous.”

“He’s right,” Yuzuriha agreed, stepping back to admire her work. “You have such strong features, but when you soften the edges a little… it’s really striking. Tsukasa’s not going to know what hit him.”

Senku rolled his eyes, but… a tiny part of him glowed under the compliments. It wasn’t like he cared about his appearance. Not really. Not when there were equations to solve and theories to prove. But there was something intimate in letting others tend to him like this, something oddly vulnerable—and warm.

His shoulders sagged a little as he let himself breathe. “This doesn’t leave this room.”

Gen smirked as he reached for the final styling product. “Not unless you walk out with the kind of strut that says ‘my man should’ve come back two hours ago.’”

Senku huffed. “I don’t strut.”

“Oh, honey,” Gen cooed. “You will.”

And as the soft music swelled behind them, as the faint scent of tea tree oil and fresh mascara mingled in the air, Senku let them work.

Maybe, just this once, he’d let them paint him like something precious.

And when Tsukasa did come back?

He’d be reminded exactly who he belonged to.

It had been four hours. Four full hours since Tsukasa had left with Minami trailing behind him like a shadow that refused to disappear.

Senku wasn’t angry anymore—no, no, he’d evolved past that. He was calm, the kind of calm that had a dangerous edge to it, sharpened by sparkly eyeliner and glossy lips. Yuzuriha adjusted the collar of the silk blouse she’d somehow convinced him into, smoothing the fabric over his shoulders with a proud little hum.

“There,” she said softly, stepping back. “You’re perfect.”

Gen, crouched at Senku’s side with a glimmer of wicked pride in his eyes, leaned in close as he tugged the final lock of Senku’s now-loosened hair into place. His voice was a hush of mischief as he whispered something into Senku’s ear—low, dangerous, and so undeniably Gen.

Senku’s eyes widened faintly.

“…That’ll definitely get his attention,” he muttered.

“Oh, darling,” Gen said with a sly smile, brushing a final touch of glitter onto Senku’s cheekbone. “It’ll do more than that. He’ll forget his own name.”

Yuzuriha clapped her hands together gently, clearly trying to contain her excitement. “Okay. You’re officially weaponized.”

Senku stood, fixing the hem of his blouse and glancing at his reflection in the mirror. His eyes were framed like daggers in twilight, his lips soft and flushed, and his hair cascading just the way Tsukasa liked—only better.

And if Tsukasa had forgotten what he left behind four hours ago?

He was about to get a vivid reminder.

“Let’s go,” Senku said, voice cool and certain.

Gen grinned like he’d just lit a match in a powder keg.

“Let’s.”

Gen escorted Senku through the quiet halls of the mansion, his smug grin never wavering. As they reached the familiar door of the shared bedroom, Gen gave one last, dramatic bow.

“Now presenting: the divine punishment for making a genius wait,” he whispered with flair.

Senku rolled his eyes, but the soft blush on his cheeks gave him away. Gen stepped back, and just before closing the door, he mouthed “Good luck” with a wink before letting the door click shut behind him.

The silence settled.

Senku took a breath. The scent of Tsukasa—cedar, spice, faint smoke—lingered in the room. Slowly, he shrugged off the loose jacket draped around his shoulders, letting it fall onto the velvet chair nearby.

Underneath, deep crimson lace clung to him in all the right places, tracing the sharp lines of his body and highlighting every subtle strength and vulnerability. The color burned against his pale skin, a perfect match for his striking red eyes, now partially shadowed by the loose curtain of his hair.

He climbed onto the bed slowly, deliberately, and knelt at the center—legs parted slightly, his spine tall, chin lifted, just as he'd seen models pose when they knew they had all the power in the room.

The lace whispered with every movement.

With steady fingers, he pulled out his phone, tilting it to catch the soft lighting that painted the room golden. He looked into the camera, with his tongue out and mouth opened wide—equal parts challenge and invitation.

Click.

A single photo. No words. Just the image.

He sent it directly to Tsukasa’s private number.

Then he put the phone down, folded his hands on his lap, and waited.

Let the king see exactly what he’d left waiting for four damn hours.

---

Tsukasa sat at the head of the long mahogany table, his fingers steepled in front of him, expression unreadable—stone cold. The room buzzed with voices: advisors droning on, the supporting family whispering among themselves, Minami seated just a little too close with every attempt to keep his attention.

But none of it registered.

Not really.

Not when every tick of the gilded clock on the wall reminded him how long it had been since he last saw his Senku.

Four hours.

Four excruciating hours of thinly veiled political manipulation. Of Minami flashing those saccharine smiles and using her father’s situation as leverage. From the start, Tsukasa had known—this was a trap. A strategic little game by the supporting family to get closer to the power he wielded. And yet… he’d entertained it.

Why?

Because he thought it’d be harmless. Because he thought letting Minami get under Senku’s skin might earn him another adorable scowl, another flustered pout.

He hadn’t expected it to take this long.

And he definitely hadn’t expected the subtle ache gnawing at his chest from being apart from Senku for this long. He used to thrive in rooms like these, used to be unshakable, used to be alone.

But now?

Now he missed the weight of Senku in his lap. The idle way his fingers combed through Tsukasa’s hair. The sharp, dry remarks whispered only loud enough for him to hear. He missed the warmth. The spark. The chaos that made him feel alive.

He hadn’t realized just how dependent he’d grown on the presence of one tiny, brilliant man until now.

With a small sigh, he subtly slid a hand beneath the table, reaching for his phone tucked inside his jacket.

And then he saw it.

A message.

From him.

One image.

Tsukasa opened it.

The moment his eyes landed on the photo, everything else—every voice, every breath, every boring sentence—ceased to exist.

There, framed in the soft light of their bedroom, knelt Senku. Crimson lace, wild hair, legs parted just enough to be maddening. Those red eyes looked straight into the camera, full of fire and mischief, tongue out in the most provocative way possible that screamed ‘mine’.

Tsukasa’s heart slammed against his ribs.

A low, quiet growl of frustration built in his chest—not at Senku, never at Senku—but at the people keeping him trapped here when that was waiting for him at home.

He locked the phone and stood slowly.

The room fell silent at once.

Minami’s brows rose. “Tsukasa-sama?”

“I’m done entertaining this.”

“But—”

“I said I’m done.” His voice sliced through the room like a blade. “If you think using your daughter as a pawn is a good strategy, you’ve underestimated me. Severely.”

Without sparing another glance, he turned and strode out of the meeting room.

He had a scientist to worship.

The hallway echoed with the thud of Tsukasa’s heavy footsteps, each one faster than the last as he made a beeline for their bedroom. His heart pounded with anticipation, his mind racing with every possibility Senku’s photo had teased.

When he reached the door, he tried the handle.

Locked.

A low chuckle rumbled from his chest. Of course Senku would lock the door. Of course he'd turn this into some kind of game. And gods, did Tsukasa love him for it.

The thrill of not knowing what he’d find—paired with that photo—made his blood rush faster. He slipped a hand into his suit pocket, fingers curling around the small brass key. With a click, the door swung open.

And Tsukasa stopped in his tracks.

There—bathed in the warm, golden light of the room—Senku lay sprawled across the sheets. Hair down in silky waves. Legs parted with deliberate care. His chest rose and fell in steady breaths, but his gaze? His gaze was on fire.

Red. Hungry. Waiting.

Tsukasa’s throat went dry.

A bottle of lube sat innocently on the nightstand—right beside a suspicious-looking remote that practically begged questions Tsukasa didn’t have time to ask. The air was warm, scented faintly with vanilla and a trace of rose, soft and teasing like a whisper against the skin.

Senku tilted his head slightly, smug and tempting all at once. “Took you long enough.”

Tsukasa’s only reply was the slow, methodical way he loosened his tie. His gaze never left the man on the bed. Each step forward was deliberate—like a lion closing in on the kill, powerful and patient.

“You’re playing a dangerous game, sweetheart,” he murmured, voice low and dark. “And you’ve just become the prize.”

Senku’s smirk widened, lips parting just enough to tease. “Then what are you waiting for?”

Tsukasa shed the rest of his jacket with one smooth motion, eyes devouring every inch of the sight in front of him.

He was going to make Senku remember exactly who he belonged to.

Tsukasa strode his way towards the bed, his heart thudding in his chest like a war drum as he got closer to claiming what was rightfully his. The anticipation was almost unbearable, and it felt like every nerve ending was on fire.

As he reached the bed, he didn't waste a moment. With a rough, commanding force, he slammed Senku against the mattress, pinning him down beneath his large form. The breath was knocked out of Senku in a whoosh, but he didn't resist. In fact, he welcomed it with a moan that echoed through the room.

Tsukasa's kiss was rough and demanding, his tongue harshly dominating Senku's mouth. He didn't give his lover a moment to catch his breath, instead, he took control completely. Senku let him, of course, enjoying Tsukasa's dominance as much as he enjoyed submitting to it.

Their bodies were hot and pressed against each other, the sheet slipping down to pool at their waists. Tsukasa's hand slid up Senku's chest, cupping his face possessively as he deepened their kiss. He could feel the other man's heart racing beneath his palm, and it only fueled his desire further.

Senku arched up into the kiss, his hips writhing against Tsukasa's. He could feel the hardness between his legs, rubbing against his own arousal. The sensation was exquisite, and he moaned loudly into Tsukasa's mouth.

Tsukasa growled, pulling back just enough to speak. "You like that, don't you?"

Senku nodded frantically, his eyes wild with lust. "Please," he begged. "Take me."

Tsukasa smiled coldly, his lips curling into a predator's grin. "I intend to," he whispered before crashing their lips together once more.

As he pulled away from their kiss, Tsukasa could feel the small vibrations coursing through Senku's body. His eyes widened in realization as he looked down, spotting the vibrator nestled against Senku's ass. A grin tugged at the corner of his mouth.

Carefully, he traced thin lines over Senku's already lubed-up flesh. He pressed a fingertip against the entrance to his lover's tight heat, teasing him mercilessly. Senku arched up into the touch, moaning loudly.

With one swift motion, Tsukasa pushed his finger inside, feeling the hot, slick walls of Senku's ass grip him tightly. He added a second finger, stretching Senku's opening further. The other man cried out, his hips bucking off the bed in response to the invasion.

"Where'd you even get this?" Tsukasa growled, his voice low and demanding.

Senku, breathless and panting from Tsukasa's rough treatment, managed to gasp out between moans, "Gen..."

As Tsukasa kept fingering Senku, he couldn't help but smile when he heard a knock on the door. Minami's voice filtered through the wooden panel, her tone anxious and worried. He glanced down at Senku, who was still caught up in their passionate encounter. His eyes were closed and his lips parted in a breathy moan, completely lost in pleasure.

"Want to answer it?" Tsukasa asked with a smirk on his face as he kept working Senku's ass with his fingers. The other man looked up at him in confusion, moan dying on his lips as he realized what was happening.

"What?" Senku asked breathlessly between gasps for air. Tsukasa chuckled darkly before stepping back and pulling his fingers free from Senku's ass with a pop. The sound sent shivers down both their spines as they left behind a sticky trail of lube and Senku's essence on his fingers.

Senku wobbled towards the door, still in his red lingerie and vibrator up his ass. His movements were unsteady as he struggled to keep up with the sensations coursing through him. He opened the door a crack and peered out at Minami nervously. "Tsukasa’s is a little busy right now," he managed to say between breaths.

As Senku closed the door in front of Minami, he could feel Tsukasa adjusting the vibrations on the remote. The sensation was overwhelming, making his entire body tremble with anticipation. He couldn't help but moan as he slumped to the floor, knees giving out beneath him.

Tsukasa smirked as he watched Senku collapse, taking in the sight of him - red lingerie hugging his curves, vibrator still buried deep inside him, hair falling in disarray around his face. He walked over to his submissive lover and knelt down beside him, trailing a finger across Senku's cheek.

"You belong to me," he whispered into Senku's ear, his voice low and husky. "And I'm going to make sure you remember that."

He carried him towards the bed, effortlessly, he couldn't help but feel a rush of possessiveness course through him. With a swift motion, he took out the vibrator and set it aside. Then, he positioned himself at Senku's entrance and slowly probed his swollen cock into the waiting heat.

Senku's body shuddered at the intrusion, but he couldn't help begging Tsukasa to push deeper. "Please... more," he moaned, arching his back in invitation.

Tsukasa obliged, slowly driving himself further inside Senku's tight warmth. The feeling was exquisite, like being wrapped in velvet while being consumed by flames. He withdrew slowly, then thrust back in again with force, claiming what was his.

Senku cried out in pleasure, his body trembling under the onslaught of sensations. The room was filled with the sound of skin slapping against skin, punctuated by the occasional groan or moan. This was what they both needed - this raw passion and unbridled desire.

As Tsukasa picked up speed, he leaned down to capture Senku's lips in a searing kiss. Their tongues danced together, twisting and turning in a passionate tango that left them both breathless.

The night was still young, but Tsukasa and Senku were lost in their own world. They moved together like they were the only two people in the universe, their bodies in perfect sync.

Tsukasa's thrusts grew deeper and harder, driving himself deeper into Senku with each stroke. His hands roamed over Senku's body, leaving trails of goosebumps in their wake. He nipped at Senku's earlobe, causing the other man to shudder with pleasure.

Senku wrapped his legs around Tsukasa's waist, holding on for dear life. His nails dug into Tsukasa's back, leaving little half-moon marks in the flesh. He cried out incoherently, his voice lost in the throes of passion.

Their bodies were one - moving together as if they had been made for each other. The room was filled with the sound of flesh slapping against flesh, punctuated by the occasional grunt or moan. The air was thick with desire, and it was clear that neither of them wanted this to end.

As they approached the peak once more, Tsukasa slid a hand between them and found Senku's throbbing erection. He stroked it in time with his thrusts, adding another layer of intensity to their already mind-blowing experience.

Finally, Tsukasa's whole body tensed as he let out a primal roar, filling Senku with his seed. Senku followed shortly after, his body shuddering as he came all over the both of them.

As they both caught their breath, Tsukasa leaned down to nip at Senku's neck playfully. "Do you think I'm done with you, sweetheart?" he asked with a smirk.

Senku, still panting, clung to Tsukasa's neck as he felt the other man's hard cock slamming into him harder and faster. "N-no," he gasped out, his voice barely above a whisper.

Tsukasa chuckled darkly, his hips moving in perfect sync with the forceful thrusts that drove them both towards another climax. He bit down lightly on Senku's earlobe, causing the other man to shudder with pleasure.

The room was filled with the sound of flesh slapping against flesh, punctuated by the occasional grunt or moan. The air was thick with desire, and it was clear that neither of them wanted this to end.

As they approached the peak once more, Tsukasa's pace became harder and faster. He gripped Senku's hips tightly, holding him in place as he drove himself deeper inside him. Senku cried out incoherently, his body shuddering under the intense onslaught of pleasure.

Tsukasa's whole body tensed once again, filling Senku up with his seed. Senku followed shortly after, his body shuddering as he came all over the both of them, once again.

As they both lay panting on the bed, Tsukasa pulled out momentarily and flipped Senku onto his back. He then re-entered him, his pace still relentless.

Senku's cries of pleasure echoed through the room, his grip on the sheets growing tighter as if it were the only thing keeping him grounded. Tears streamed from his eyes, and he couldn't help but whimper with every forceful thrust that drove him closer to another orgasm.

With each passing moment, the intensity of their passion grew stronger. They were locked in a dance of desire that seemed to have no end. Their bodies moved in perfect sync, creating a rhythm that was both beautiful and brutal.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, Tsukasa pulled out of Senku, his entire body shuddering with the release of his pent-up tension. He collapsed beside Senku, breathing heavily as he looked down at his sweat-slicked lover with satisfaction.

Senku lay there, panting heavily, feeling empty yet strangely fulfilled. He looked up at Tsukasa with a mixture of gratitude and lust in his eyes. "That... was incredible," he managed to gasp out between gasps for air. "I belong to you, Tsukasa."

As the last words left Senku's lips, Tsukasa felt a sense of possessiveness wash over him. He had always known that Senku was his, but hearing it from Senku's own mouth was a rush like no other.

He leaned down and pressed his lips against Senku's, their tongues dancing together in a slow, sensual rhythm. As their kiss deepened, Tsukasa reached over to the bedside table and retrieved a small vial filled with a clear liquid.

He broke the seal on the vial and poured some of the liquid onto his fingers. Then, with a wicked grin, he reached down and began to stroke Senku's cum filled prostate again, causing the other man to arch his back off the bed in pleasure.

"That's it, baby," Tsukasa purred. "Take it all."

Senku moaned loudly, his body trembling under the onslaught of pleasure. He couldn't believe how good it felt, how much he needed this release.

As the waves of pleasure washed over him, Senku couldn't help but imagine how things would be from now on. He belonged to Tsukasa, body and soul. And there was no greater feeling than knowing that he was loved, cherished, and desired by someone as amazing as Tsukasa.

With a final, primal cry, Senku climaxed, his whole body shuddering under the intensity of the orgasm. As he lay there, spent and satisfied, he looked up at Tsukasa with nothing but love and adoration in his eyes.

But of course, they didn’t stop there.

Chapter Text

It was early morning, the light barely filtering through the sheer curtains, casting golden streaks across the room. The air smelled faintly of last night—vanilla, sweat, and a hint of expensive cologne.

Senku lay face-down against the pillows, hair loose and tangled from sleep and far more than sleep. Tsukasa's strong arms were draped around him like a weighted blanket, his chest a steady rise and fall against Senku’s bare back.

Senku stirred first, eyes fluttering open as he groggily peeked up from the warm cocoon of blankets and muscle. His voice was a sleepy mumble.

“…Morning already?”

Tsukasa’s gaze met his, still heavy-lidded but full of that soft, tender glow he reserved for one person only. His hand brushed a few strands of silver hair from Senku’s cheek before he leaned in and murmured with a low, velvety voice.

“Good morning, sweetheart.”

Senku’s lips twitched. He could pretend to be annoyed, but that voice? That face? Wrapped around him like this?

Yeah, he was definitely staying in bed for a little longer.

Eventually, they dragged themselves out of the warmth of the bed, the early morning sun now painting the room in soft golds and ambers.

Senku stood in front of the tall mirror, his bare shoulders catching the light. His fingers idly traced over his collarbone before pausing at a reddish-purple mark just above it.

“…Where did that bite come from?” he muttered, tilting his head with a squint.

Behind him, Tsukasa didn’t even try to hide the smirk pulling at his lips as he shrugged into a robe.

“I wonder,” he said casually, tone far too smug for that early in the morning.

Senku rolled his eyes, but there was no heat behind it. His hands lifted to start gathering up his hair, fingers weaving into the silver strands in an attempt to put it up again.

Before he could finish, Tsukasa was suddenly behind him, close enough that his warmth practically wrapped around Senku again. A large hand gently caught his wrist, stopping him.

“I like it when it’s down,” Tsukasa said, voice low and honest, not a hint of teasing in it.

Senku met his gaze through the mirror. No sarcasm. No smugness. Just that soft look he rarely gave—rarely needed to give—because Tsukasa always knew what was beneath his walls anyway.

He let his hands drop.

“…Okay.”

Tsukasa glanced at the clock and stepped back, still smirking. “Get dressed, we have a meeting in ten.”

Senku raised a brow, pausing as he reached for his shirt. “Is she gonna be there?”

That smirk of Tsukasa’s only deepened. “Yes,” he said, buttoning up his own crisp shirt. “But I believe…”—he turned slightly, angling his head to gesture at the very visible bite marks blooming along his neck—“this is enough to shut her down.”

Senku stared for a second, then let out a soft laugh through his nose. His expression warmed, amused and affectionate. He picked up his shirt at last, voice quieter, but genuine.

“Okay.”

And so, once they were dressed—Senku in his usual sharp layers, his hair still loose and soft from the night before, and Tsukasa effortlessly regal in his tailored suit—Tsukasa, as always, scooped Senku into his arms like it was second nature. Senku had long stopped protesting. In fact, he leaned into the warmth of it, arms lazily hooked around Tsukasa’s neck.

They walked the familiar hallways of Tsukasa’s mansion with the quiet ease of two people who had nothing left to prove. Their light chatter bounced softly between them, full of subtle flirtation and the kind of unspoken intimacy that made servants avert their eyes with secretive smiles.

That peace cracked when a figure stepped directly into their path.

Minami.

She was all dressed up, confidence oozing from every carefully styled strand of her hair. “Good morning, Tsukasa-sama,” she said, voice dipped in honey and far too sweet for Senku’s palate.

Tsukasa didn’t even get a chance to respond.

Senku, still held snugly in his arms, tilted his face up and grabbed Tsukasa’s collar. Without hesitation, he pulled Tsukasa into a full, deliberate kiss—slow, heated, possessive. When they parted, there was a faint, mischievous smirk tugging at Senku’s lips, and a whisper of saliva glinting between them before it broke.

He stared directly at Minami.

“Mine.”

Tsukasa was obviously into it, his grip on Senku tightening for a heartbeat as his gaze darkened in that telltale way that always promised trouble—if they weren’t on their way to a meeting.

Minami looked as though she’d just swallowed glass.

Tsukasa said nothing. He didn’t need to. He simply adjusted Senku in his arms and continued walking, boots echoing against the marble floors as the doors to the meeting room came into view—leaving Minami in their wake.

---

The grand meeting hall was as tense and gilded as ever, sunlight filtering in through the high stained-glass windows, casting hues of crimson and gold across the long mahogany table. Important families and allies of the underworld sat in their designated spots, stacks of documents, sealed folders, and crystal glasses reflecting the pressure of the day.

At the head of the table sat Tsukasa, regal and unreadable, the crownless king of this empire of shadows.

And nestled beside him, lounging in his usual spot, was Senku.

Except today… Senku looked different.

He dawned a thin black turtleneck tucked into high-waisted slacks that flattered his lean frame. His scar peeked through faintly, but it was overshadowed by the way his long, pale hair spilled over his shoulders, brushed to perfection. His eyes were sharp and alive, lined subtly with a touch of kohl thanks to Yuzuriha’s skilled hands. And his expression?

Bored. Beautiful. Dangerous.

He was only half-listening to the various reports of smuggling routes, territory disputes, and trade negotiations. One leg crossed over the other, he twirled a lock of Tsukasa’s hair between his fingers, utterly at ease in the chaos.

Multiple gazes found him—and lingered.

An heir from the South kept stealing glances, eyes dark with poorly masked interest. One of the younger advisors, seated just across the table, had gone quiet mid-sentence when Senku tilted his head lazily and licked his bottom lip without thinking. Even Minami, seated further down, was stiff with silent fury, eyes darting between Tsukasa and Senku like she was trying to figure out how she had lost so completely.

Tsukasa noticed every single one.

Every glance. Every twitch of interest. Every breath that so much as shifted in Senku’s direction.

And each time it happened, Tsukasa would slide his eyes toward Senku with that look. The look. Possessive. Hungry. Worshipful. Like he was ready to end entire bloodlines if anyone dared touch what was his.

Senku, of course, smirked faintly each time he caught it. He didn’t even stop playing with Tsukasa’s hair—if anything, he got bolder. Twisting it gently around his knuckles, braiding a few loose strands here and there, tracing patterns into Tsukasa’s scalp while letting out the occasional hum of mock interest when someone finished their report.

Across the room, Gen, dressed immaculately as always and sipping a fizzy drink through a straw, couldn’t hide his pride. He looked at Senku like a proud stylist watching their runway model take the stage and steal hearts.

He leaned toward Yuzuriha and whispered, “We created a monster.”

Yuzuriha giggled behind her hand. “A gorgeous one.”

And Tsukasa? Tsukasa said nothing. He didn’t have to. His hand rested on Senku’s thigh, thumb moving in slow, calming circles—warning and comfort, all in one.

This meeting might’ve been about politics, money, and dominance.

But everyone in the room knew:

Senku was the one in control.

That was… until Tsukasa reached into his suit pocket.

His movements were casual—too casual. Still engaged in a discussion about northern shipments with one of the syndicates, Tsukasa didn’t break eye contact or shift his expression. His fingers simply dipped into the silk-lined interior of his jacket and pressed something.

Click.

Senku jerked upright in his seat so suddenly it drew a few confused glances. His breath hitched audibly, and the strand of hair he’d been twirling slipped from his fingers as his back arched just slightly—just enough for only those closest to notice.

His eyes snapped to Tsukasa.

A flustered flush bloomed across Senku’s cheeks and neck, a delicate contrast to his pale skin and the sleek black of his turtleneck. His lips parted in a soft gasp that he bit back quickly, hand immediately gripping Tsukasa’s thigh beneath the table.

Tsukasa didn’t look his way.

Not once.

He kept his composure, finishing his sentence about safe routes through the docks with that same velvety authority. But a faint, smug curl tugged at the corner of his lips. The remote stayed hidden in his pocket, his thumb lazily gliding across the buttons, teasing.

Senku let out a quiet, involuntary whimper—masked quickly as a cough. His other hand slipped around Tsukasa’s arm, clinging to him as if for support, legs subtly pressing together beneath the table.

Across the room, Gen narrowed his eyes. He didn’t know exactly what was going on, but the look on Senku’s face? The way he was practically melting into Tsukasa’s side, every sharp edge dulled by some invisible force?

Yeah. Gen had suspicions.

Yuzuriha, bless her heart, just sipped her tea innocently and hummed along with the conversation.

Tsukasa finally leaned down, his voice low—meant only for Senku.

“Still in control, sweetheart?”

Senku glared up at him with a trembling pout and whispered through clenched teeth, “I hate you.”

But his hand didn’t let go. His body didn’t move away. He stayed exactly where Tsukasa wanted him.

And damn it, he looked beautiful doing it.

As the meeting dragged into its second hour, the room was stifled with numbers, logistics, and territorial disputes that blurred into background noise for Senku.

His endurance—sharp and stubborn as it was—had begun to crack. Beads of sweat glistened along his temple, his posture loose but tense, fingers clinging to the fabric of Tsukasa’s sleeve like a lifeline. He was warm all over, his breath shaky, eyes struggling to stay open.

And Tsukasa?

Tsukasa remained the image of composure. Calm, calculating, his voice deep and confident as he spoke of power plays and profit margins—all while his thumb idly adjusted settings on the remote still hidden inside his suit pocket.

Then—

Click.

Senku’s body jolted, a silent, strangled gasp caught behind his lips as the highest setting kicked in. His legs clenched, fingers digging into Tsukasa’s thigh now, face buried in the crook of his lover’s arm as a wave of sensation crashed through him.

He shivered.

Not violently, but noticeably. His breath came out slow and shaky, lashes fluttering as he sagged into Tsukasa’s frame, entirely overwhelmed. The soft tremble in his limbs was barely visible to the untrained eye, but Tsukasa noticed. Of course he did.

Yet Tsukasa didn’t look down.

Didn’t skip a beat.

He continued to speak with quiet dominance, answering questions and giving commands, only pausing to sip his tea. But a slow, knowing smirk curved across his lips—subtle, smug, and meant for one person only.

Senku, boneless and dazed in his arms, barely registered the world around him anymore.

And Tsukasa?

Tsukasa kept his gaze forward, letting everyone know he was still the king of the room—

—but the only person who mattered was already curled against him, undone and conquered, in the most delicious silence.

---

As the last of the council members finally filed out of the meeting room—some pretending not to glance at Senku’s flushed face or Tsukasa’s way-too-satisfied smirk—Senku wasted no time.

Smack. Smack. Smack.

His palms hit Tsukasa’s broad shoulders repeatedly, each slap a little louder than the last.

“You absolute bastard,” Senku muttered, glaring. “You had one job. One. And instead you turned a boring meeting into your own personal power trip.”

Tsukasa just chuckled, entirely too pleased with himself. “You looked beautiful,” he murmured, pulling Senku close again, arms wrapped around his waist like a human clamp. “Couldn’t help myself.”

“Oh, I know you couldn’t,” Senku grumbled, although he didn’t exactly resist the cuddle. He even rested his forehead on Tsukasa’s shoulder, sighing heavily.

Right then—perfect timing—the door creaked open just a crack.

Chrome poked his head in, froze at the sight of Senku still in Tsukasa’s lap, the both of them looking like post-scandal royalty.

“I—I didn’t see anything! I swear!!”

The door slammed shut again before either of them could respond.

Senku groaned and slid out of Tsukasa’s lap with exaggerated drama, wincing a little as he stood.

Tsukasa raised a brow, concerned but still amused. “Where are you going?”

Senku didn’t even look back. He just waved a hand as he muttered under his breath, “Getting this shit out of my ass.”

Tsukasa blinked. Then blinked again.

And then laughed so hard he had to clutch the table for balance.

Senku, halfway down the hallway already, yelled back, “You’re cleaning the damn toy next time, you menace!”

Somewhere in the house, Gen choked on his cola without even knowing why.

Senku padded barefoot down the hall, freshly cleaned, hair still down and glowing under the hallway lights like spun silk. His expression was calm, composed, but there was a certain bite in his stride now. A sharpness honed from hours of being teased within an inch of his patience.

He didn’t get far.

Minami stepped out from around the corner like she’d been waiting. A little too poised. A little too smug. Her arms crossed just below her chest, eyes sweeping over Senku with a condescension that made his skin crawl.

“Well, well. You clean up nice,” she said, voice sugary with just enough venom beneath it to irritate a saint.

Senku tilted his head, unimpressed.

She stepped closer, trying to corner him. “I just wanted to talk, you know. Woman to—well, I guess whatever you are.” Her smile curled.

Wrong move.

Senku didn’t flinch. Instead, he looked her up and down once. Slowly.

Then his voice cut through the hallway, calm but sharp enough to slice glass.

“You’re persistent,” he said, tone lazy, “I’ll give you that. But if you think I’m the type to get jealous, or insecure, or whatever little fantasy you’ve been cooking up in that glittery mess of a brain—then you really haven’t been paying attention.”

Minami blinked, stunned by the casual savagery.

Senku stepped in closer, nose wrinkling slightly. “It’s so embarrassing watching you throw yourself at someone who literally had his tongue down my throat this morning. You’re not bold, darling—you’re desperate.”

Her mouth opened, but no words came out.

Senku sighed, exaggerated and annoyed. “Can we just remove this bitch already?” He turned slightly, not even glancing over his shoulder. “Tsukasa?”

From the shadows down the hall, like some gothic nightmare with muscles, Tsukasa emerged. He’d been there the whole time, leaned against the wall, arms crossed as he listened.

He walked up beside Senku, gaze never once touching Minami, and wrapped an arm protectively around Senku’s waist.

“Whatever you want, sweetheart.”

Minami’s face fell—utterly and completely defeated.

Senku leaned into Tsukasa’s side with a smug little hum. “Good. Let’s go.”

They walked past Minami without another glance, her presence already irrelevant.

And as they disappeared down the hallway, Tsukasa murmured low into Senku’s ear, “You were ruthless.”

Senku only smirked, smugness fully restored.

---

And so, Tsukasa called another meeting.

The long polished table was once again surrounded by the most powerful members of the empire—familia heads, supporting families, and top lieutenants. The air was tense, even before Tsukasa entered the room with Senku curled up on his lap as always, legs draped comfortably over one armrest, fingers casually twirling a strand of Tsukasa’s hair.

He looked like he barely cared to be there—like the whole gathering was some minor inconvenience between better things.

Tsukasa's expression was as unreadable as always, but the way his hand rested on Senku's hip was possessive. Final.

Once everyone was seated, Tsukasa opened the meeting with a voice so calm it silenced the entire room.

“We will no longer be protecting Minami Hokutozai.”

Gasps and murmurs rippled through the room.

“What?”

“You can’t be serious—”

A single glare from Tsukasa quieted the noise. His tone remained cool, measured.

“It’s become clear that Minami’s involvement—and the favor we’ve extended to the Hokutozai family—is a thinly veiled attempt to secure more control over this familia. You thought I wouldn’t see it?” His eyes narrowed. “You must’ve mistaken me for someone stupid.”

One man, thick-necked and aging with a twisted sneer—Minami’s father—slammed his palm on the table. “This is because your slut told you to, isn’t it?”

The room went dead silent.

Senku’s brow twitched, but he didn’t move from his place on Tsukasa’s lap. He merely raised a brow, unimpressed. Tsukasa didn’t blink.

He stood slowly, the chair shifting beneath him as Senku slid down smoothly beside him, standing tall.

Tsukasa’s voice remained low, almost too calm. “No. This decision is mine. Based on logic. Observation. And betrayal.”

Then, his tone darkened. “But for calling him that—” Tsukasa nodded once. “Hyoga.”

Without hesitation, Hyoga stepped forward from his place at the back of the room, blade already half-drawn.

Before Minami’s father could even stand, Hyoga slashed his throat clean.

Blood gurgled, then silence.

Senku barely flinched. He only brushed a little speck of blood off his sleeve and muttered, “Messy.”

Tsukasa returned to his seat, pulling Senku back into his lap like nothing had happened. His hand curled possessively around Senku’s waist.

“There will be no further disrespect.”

He looked over the stunned, silent room.

“From this point on, Senku is to be included in all high-level decision making. He holds the authority to speak on my behalf. If he gives a command, it will be followed. Without question.”

There was a pause.

Eyes widened.

Mouths parted slightly in disbelief.

But no one said a word.

Because no one dared.

Senku didn’t smile smugly. Didn’t gloat. He simply leaned against Tsukasa with an unreadable expression, eyes sharp and clear as glass.

And from that moment on, every single person in the room understood:

The king had just crowned his consort.

And if anyone had a problem with that—

Well…

They'd end up like Minami’s father.

After the meeting finally ended and the last of the heavy doors closed behind the remaining familia members, the atmosphere in the room shifted from cold-blooded power to something warmer. Softer.

Tsukasa hadn’t moved from his chair, and Senku was still sitting sideways on his lap, lazily toying with the edge of his suit sleeve.

They stayed in silence for a beat, the weight of everything that had just happened lingering in the air.

Senku tilted his head, his eyes still half-lidded but curious. “You really gave me that much power?”

Tsukasa glanced down at him with that small, unreadable smile. “Mm.”

“…Why?”

Tsukasa leaned in, brushed a strand of hair out of Senku’s eyes, and said softly, “Just because.”

It was maddeningly vague, but the smile that accompanied it was real. Gentle. So full of devotion that Senku forgot to press him further. He let it go—just this once.

But of course, their rare tender moment didn’t last long.

The door suddenly burst open.

“SENKU~!!” came Chrome’s yell, right before he launched forward and grabbed Senku around the middle like a human grappling hook.

“Wha—? Hey! Put me down, you idiot!” Senku yelped, arms flailing as Chrome dragged him halfway off Tsukasa’s lap.

Gen appeared right behind him, grinning like a devil. “Don’t mind us! We’re here to borrow the guest of honor~!”

And in the back, sweet and smug as ever, Yuzuriha appeared, hands clasped behind her back, giggling like this was all some big fun game. “We’re celebrating!”

Tsukasa blinked, mildly surprised, as his lap was forcibly emptied of its most precious cargo.

He raised a brow. “And what exactly are you planning to do with him?”

Yuzuriha smiled innocently. “Makeovers. Sparkling cider. Maybe karaoke.”

Senku looked horrified.

Gen winked. “You know—girl things~”

Tsukasa couldn’t help the small, warm laugh that escaped him. He nodded once. “Don’t break him.”

“Oh no promises,” Gen sang.

And before Senku could protest further, he was dragged out the door by the trio of chaos, his annoyed grumbles echoing down the hall.

“I’m a mafia underboss now, dammit! You can’t just kidnap me like this—!”

“You absolutely need glitter on your eyelids for this moment in history,” Gen called back, unfazed.

Tsukasa sat back in his chair, smile lingering on his lips, and whispered to himself, “He really is mine.”

---

Back in Yuzuriha’s pastel-splashed room, the vibe was pure chaos. The small, portable karaoke machine sat on a pink side table like a ticking bomb of embarrassment, and Senku already regretted being dragged into this so-called "celebration."

The moment the music started, Yuzuriha burst into song with the passion of a pop idol on her final world tour. Her voice soared through a girl group anthem, and just when Senku thought he could sit this one out, she grabbed both his hands and twirled him into a messy little dance.

“Come on, Senku!” she beamed, “You’ve got to feel the music!”

Senku didn’t feel the music. What he did feel was secondhand embarrassment and the sharp edge of glitter in his eye. Still, he shuffled along beside her like a man accepting his fate.

Then came Chrome’s turn.

And gods, Chrome rapped.

It was… something. He held the mic like a pop star, rhymed “science” with “appliance,” and made finger guns at the ceiling like it owed him money. Yuzuriha and Gen clapped like he just dropped a platinum single. Even Senku smirked.

But then—Senku’s smirk widened.

He leaned over to Gen and whispered, “Wanna do a duet?”

Gen blinked. “You’re volunteering?” he whispered back, suspicious.

“Yup,” Senku replied, smug, already scrolling through the karaoke catalog. “Let’s blow their minds.”

Gen followed him, cautiously excited.

The song? Defying Gravity.

The second the first notes played, Gen lit up like the stage was his. He leaned into the mic dramatically, milking the performance. “Something has changed within me~”

Then Senku came in—smooth, rich, and unnervingly flawless.

“Something is not the same~”

Gen nearly dropped the mic.

Senku sang like he’d been trained in a hidden Broadway temple. His voice hit every note like it was nothing. On the high note, he belched it out, casually powerful, like he wasn’t even trying.

Yuzuriha and Chrome stared, slack-jawed.

By the final, “Kiss me goodbye, I’m defying gravity!” Senku was full-on belting, hand in the air, hair still down, eyeliner smudged just right, stealing every ounce of spotlight.

When the music faded, there was a beat of silence.

Then chaos.

“WHAT?!” Chrome yelled, shaking Senku’s shoulders.

“Since WHEN do you sing like that?!” Yuzuriha gasped, clutching her chest like she’d just witnessed a miracle.

Senku stretched like a cat and shrugged, completely unbothered.

“Just wanted to mess with you guys.”

Gen, still stunned, looked at him like he’d fallen in love. “You witch,” he whispered, absolutely delighted.

And with that, Senku sauntered over to steal Gen’s cider like nothing happened—because apparently, being the second most powerful man in the empire wasn’t enough. He had to be a showstopper too.

Yuzuriha giggled and reached for the sparkling cider bottle, popping it open with a satisfying pop! and a puff of bubbles. She poured the fizzy liquid into a set of champagne flutes lined up on her vanity, pink and gold glitter sticking to the glass like it had no intention of ever leaving.

“To Senku,” Gen declared, lifting his flute with exaggerated flair, “The Second Most Powerful Man in the Underworld!”

Everyone raised their glasses with varying degrees of elegance and chaotic energy.

Gen, of course, couldn’t resist turning the moment into performance art.

He cleared his throat, stepping forward as if the imaginary spotlight was on him. “Ladies, gentlemen, and unhinged scientists—tonight we honor not just a man, but a phenomenon. Senku Ishigami—who stole our hearts, dominated karaoke, and now has the official power to execute people with a nod. May your eyeliner stay sharp, your formulas remain unbreakable, and your enemies quake at the very sight of your lab coat—”

“I’m not even wearing one,” Senku muttered, but his smirk gave him away.

Gen continued undeterred, hand over his heart. “Here’s to Senku: may your brain stay beautiful and your boyfriend even more unhinged.”

They all clinked glasses. Yuzuriha wiped away fake tears, though her eyes shimmered for real.

“My turn,” she said with a warm smile.

Her voice softened. “Senku, I remember when you didn’t talk to anyone. When just getting you to accept a blanket or eat a real meal was a victory. And now look at you…” She raised her flute a little higher, eyes glistening. “You’re here, alive, thriving—loved, feared, and fiercely yourself. I’m so proud of you. And I’m so happy you’re still with us.”

Senku didn’t say anything.

He stared at her, lips parted slightly. Then, silently, he reached out and clinked his glass against hers.

“…Thanks,” he murmured.

It was quiet—softer than the others had heard him in weeks. Even Gen blinked, surprised by how still Senku had gone.

Then Chrome broke the silence with a loud ahem and held up his glass.

“I—uh—okay, so—I had something cool to say but I totally lost it—so! Cheers to Senku!” he said instead, with a sheepish grin. “You’re awesome, dude.”

The group cracked up as their glasses clinked one more time, the sound echoing like laughter through the warm room.

They drank.

Senku smiled.

And for once, he let himself enjoy the moment—no science, no politics, no schemes.

Just family.

So naturally, Gen clapped his hands and declared, “Time for a drinking game!”

Yuzuriha cheered, Chrome whooped, and Senku’s smile faltered just a little.

“Wait, what kind of drinking game?” he asked, already suspicious.

“The classic,” Gen grinned wickedly. “Never Have I Ever.”

“Oh hell no,” Senku muttered, already reaching for the cider bottle. But it was too late—Gen had snatched it away and poured fresh rounds into the glittery flutes.

“Relax,” Gen teased. “We’ll keep it PG-13. Ish.”

“Define ‘ish,’” Senku deadpanned.

Yuzuriha giggled and leaned in. “It’s fine, Senku! We’ll go first!”

Chrome kicked it off. “Okay! Never have I ever... eaten anything with gold on it!”

Everyone but Chrome drank.

“Y’all are bougie,” Chrome huffed, pouting into his flute.

Gen twirled his cider like it was a glass of brandy. “Never have I ever been kissed by a mafia kingpin.”

Yuzuriha and Chrome gasped. Senku didn’t even hesitate—he drank.

“Cheers, bitch,” Gen snickered.

Senku didn’t even blink. “Never have I ever worn glitter eyeliner.”

Gen raised a brow and drank with pride. “You will soon. Trust me.”

Senku hiccuped.

“Never have I ever—wait,” he paused, blinking at his flute, “what was I saying again?”

“You were about to roast us with another shady one,” Gen said sweetly.

“Oh, right. Never have I ever… made an assassination plan on a napkin.”

Gen and Chrome both drank. Yuzuriha did too. Senku’s eyes narrowed. “I knew it.”

“Never have I ever,” Yuzuriha jumped in quickly, “been kidnapped by a crime family.”

Pause.

Senku and Gen raised their flutes and clinked them solemnly before downing their drinks.

Chrome’s jaw dropped. “You two are so casual about your trauma.”

“My trauma is sparkly,” Gen said dramatically.

Senku burped. “My trauma has abs.”

There was a silence before Chrome whispered, “...Tsukasa?”

Senku grinned, too flushed to pretend anymore.

Another round passed. And another.

Senku was slowly tipping sideways every time he laughed, and Gen had to grab the bottle back to stop him from pouring another too-generous shot.

“Okay okay okay,” Gen declared, giggling now. “New rule! If you laugh, you drink.”

Senku scoffed. “That’s not scientifically—pfft—HAHAH.”

“Drink,” all three shouted.

Senku drank.

The next few rounds were chaos.

“Never have I ever used a dead body as a decoy.”

Gen drinks.

“Wait what—Gen?!” a confused and extremely drunk Senku asks.

Gen, equally drunk, remarks “It was only once!”

“Never have I ever been walked in on with Tsukasa.”

Senku drank.

Chrome blushed so hard he turned redder than the cider.

“Never have I ever lied about being sober when I was not,” Chrome said.

Senku raised both hands. “This moment. This is the moment.”

He drank. Then hiccupped. “Whyyyy is the bubble juice spicy…”

“Okay okay,” Gen leaned back dramatically across the bed, his lips glossy from cider. “Last round. One more.”

He looked at Senku with mock sincerity. “Never have I ever fallen in love with someone who scares literally everyone else.”

Senku stared at him.

Then, very slowly, with no expression at all—he raised the flute and drank.

Yuzuriha squealed. Chrome choked on his cider. Gen threw a pillow in the air like he just won bingo.

Senku wiped his mouth, side-eyed all of them, and said flatly, “I hate all of you.”

But he was smiling again.

And then he hiccupped. Hard.

“Whoaaa there,” Chrome laughed, steadying him. “You okay?”

“I’m,” Senku said proudly, “fiiiiine.”

He stood. And immediately wobbled.

Yuzuriha tried to help. “Senku—”

“I’m gonna go find my hot mafia boyfriend,” he slurred with zero shame. “And maybe invent a toaster. Or kiss him. Or both.”

Gen doubled over laughing. “This is my favorite timeline.”

As Senku dramatically staggered to the door, pausing only to accidentally walk into a plant, Gen whispered to Yuzuriha, “Five bucks says Tsukasa carries him back.”

Yuzuriha smirked. “You’re on.”

They didn’t need to wonder further—because the door creaked open right as Gen and Yuzuriha were shaking on their bet.

And in stepped Tsukasa.

Towering, calm, and very much not amused as he immediately stumbled into a wobbly, glittery-eyed Senku.

Senku smacked directly into his chest with a surprised “oof,” then blinked up at him, eyes glassy, cheeks flushed, and lips curled in a dreamy smile.

Tsukasa blinked, processing the chaos in front of him.

The karaoke machine still hummed faintly in the background. A glittery feather boa hung from Chrome’s shoulders. Sparkling cider flutes were scattered across the floor like confetti. Gen, Yuzuriha, and Chrome all gave him the same expression: sheepish, tipsy, and caught red-handed.

“…What happened?” Tsukasa asked, voice low and only slightly concerned.

Chrome hiccupped. Gen gave a dramatic shrug. Yuzuriha tried to hide a burp behind her hand.

Senku, however, reached up with both hands, gently cupping Tsukasa’s face with the kind of reverence usually reserved for rare scientific discoveries.

“Oh my,” he breathed theatrically, “if it isn’t my handsome boy.”

Tsukasa raised a brow. “You’re drunk.”

Senku nodded solemnly. “Yup.”

Then beamed. “And you’re still hot.”

Tsukasa sighed. “How much did he drink?”

“Enough to tell a plant it was prettier than Gen,” Yuzuriha said, giggling into her cider.

“Rude,” Gen muttered, clearly offended.

Tsukasa shook his head and slid an arm around Senku’s waist, adjusting his face gently to look him over. Senku leaned into the touch immediately, draping himself all over his boyfriend like a very clingy, slightly giggling koala.

“Did you miss me?” he asked in a sing-song voice.

“You’ve been gone for thirty minutes,” Tsukasa said, but his voice had softened.

“That’s thirty minutes too many,” Senku sighed dramatically, then nuzzled into his chest. “Your hair smells like victory and coconut.”

Tsukasa stifled a chuckle.

Gen gave a long, exaggerated sigh. “Well, there goes my five bucks.”

“Worth it,” Yuzuriha whispered, snapping a photo for posterity.

“Let’s get you to bed,” Tsukasa murmured, tightening his hold on Senku.

“Carry me like a princess,” Senku mumbled, already half-asleep against him.

“You’re impossible,” Tsukasa said—but he was already scooping him up bridal style, completely unbothered by the weight or the wobbly limbs.

Senku threw a drowsy wink at the trio as Tsukasa carried him out. “Don’t wait up… unless you wanna hear science moans.”

“OH MY GOD—” Chrome yelled, diving for a pillow to muffle the scream.

Gen threw a glittery boa after them. “Be gentle with our genius!”

Tsukasa didn’t respond—but his smile said it all.

Chapter Text

The next morning was hell.

Fluorescent lights buzzed overhead as Senku stood at one of the counters in the lab, squinting at a bubbling flask like it had personally wronged him. His lab coat was wrinkled, his hair still down in lazy waves from last night, and he had a cold pack rubber-banded to the side of his head like a pathetic crown. His temple throbbed with every heartbeat.

Behind him, three figures were slumped over various surfaces of the lab in pure suffering.

Yuzuriha groaned into her arms, face-down on a table.

Chrome was curled up on the floor next to the fridge, mumbling incoherently about the room spinning.

Gen lay stretched out dramatically across a bench like a fallen nobleman. “Tell my legacy… I was fabulous…”

“Can you all shut up?” Senku snapped, though his voice was more nasal whine than threat. “You’re going to throw off the pH balance of this solution with your dramatic sighing.”

“You’re the one who belted out Broadway numbers like a diva,” Gen shot back weakly, shielding his eyes from the light with a piece of paper.

“I was provoked.”

“By what?” Yuzuriha mumbled. “The vibes?”

Senku rolled his eyes. The beaker fizzed slightly and turned a pale green. He nodded, pleased, and started dividing the liquid into little glass cups.

Just then, the lab door opened with a quiet click, and Tsukasa stepped in, perfectly composed, in a sleek suit that screamed authority—and possibly murder.

“Sweetheart,” he said, spotting Senku immediately, “why are you here? We have a meeting in five.”

Senku didn’t look up from what he was pouring. “Headache.”

Tsukasa’s brow twitched slightly. Then his gaze shifted left—and saw them.

Yuzuriha with her face mashed into the desk. Chrome curled up like a sad cat. Gen sprawled dramatically like a Shakespearean corpse.

Tsukasa tilted his head. “And you three were supposed to be there ten minutes ago.”

A collective groan rose like a dying chorus.

Gen threw an arm into the air like a white flag. “Forgive us, my king,” he whined. “The cruel mistress of cider has vanquished us. Have mercy on our foolish livers!”

Tsukasa blinked.

“…What the hell happened after I left?”

“Party science,” Chrome croaked.

Senku, still unfazed, turned and passed a glass to each of them like a nurse in a makeshift ER.

“Drink,” he ordered.

Yuzuriha peeked up from the table. “What is it?”

“Liquid genius,” Senku said flatly. “Now drink it or die in agony, I’m not emotionally attached to your pain.”

They didn’t need more convincing.

One by one, they drank—and within seconds, their posture shifted.

Chrome sat up straighter. Yuzuriha blinked like someone had flipped a switch. Gen gave a dramatic gasp as the fog lifted from his mind.

“…Holy shit,” Gen whispered. “I can see colors again.”

Senku leaned against the counter with a smug, exhausted smirk. “Yeah, yeah. Praise me later. We’ve got a meeting to crash.”

“Let’s go,” Tsukasa said with a chuckle, already walking toward the door. “And try not to embarrass yourselves this time.”

They all groaned again—this time less from pain, and more from the looming horror of having to be functional adults.

---

The moment the meeting officially started, Senku was already curled up in his usual throne: Tsukasa’s lap. His lab coat was buttoned haphazardly, hair tied halfway up with a pen because he couldn’t find a clip, and he looked about five seconds away from dozing off.

Until—

“We’ve confirmed the original lab site is just one of many,” Tsukasa said calmly, flipping a document. “Project Miracle wasn’t centralized. Our next move is locating the rest of the sites—before anyone else does.”

That got Senku’s attention.

His eyes snapped open, and suddenly, the sluggish air of the boardroom shifted. His fingers drummed against Tsukasa’s thigh, mind already racing.

“Wait, wait—how many labs?” Senku asked, voice sharp now, excited.

Tsukasa smirked at the change in energy. “At least seven. Hidden under dummy corporations. We have three probable coordinates.”

Senku sat up straighter. “Then we’ll need surveillance tech. Something faster than manpower. Air-based, low-noise.”

He tapped his chin thoughtfully, eyes glittering.

“…A drone,” he finally said, grinning. “But not just any drone—a hunter model. Small, high-altitude, long-range, and packed with sensors. Maybe thermal too.”

Chrome, seated near the end of the table with his usual lopsided tie, perked up immediately. “I’m in! We could modify one of our old scout shells, right?”

Senku turned to him, nodding with the same smug pride that always made Chrome feel like he could punch the moon.

“With a few upgrades, we’ll have it tracking hidden labs like a bloodhound.”

Chrome grinned, fists clenched. “Hell yeah!”

A few older executives around the table looked deeply confused at the sudden burst of science talk in the middle of a mafia meeting, but none dared question it—not when Tsukasa was sitting there with an arm wrapped lazily around Senku’s waist like this was all entirely normal.

Because it was.

Tsukasa gave Senku a glance, warm and indulgent, before turning to the rest of the room.

“Give them whatever materials they need. This is priority one.”

No one objected. Not after last time.

And as the meeting rolled on, Senku—still perched comfortably on his lover’s lap—was finally engaged, scribbling formulas on the back of someone’s report with the same intensity he used to give test results.

Gen leaned over to Yuzuriha and whispered with a grin, “He’s in his happy place. Science, power, and thighs.”

Yuzuriha giggled. “He’s unstoppable.”

---

As soon as the meeting adjourned, Senku sprang up from Tsukasa’s lap with sudden, electrifying purpose.

“Chrome! Lab. Now.”

Chrome nearly knocked his chair over scrambling up. “Yessir!”

Tsukasa watched them go with an amused little smirk, arms crossed as he leaned back in his chair. “Try not to blow anything up.”

“No promises!” Senku called back, already halfway down the hall.

By the time they reached the lab, Senku was already rattling off ideas, slamming open drawers and tugging open cabinets.

“So, what are we thinkin’?!” Chrome asked, eyes gleaming.

“Aerial drone with thermal scanning, long-distance communication, and signal jammers to knock out potential interference,” Senku muttered, already scribbling on the whiteboard with furious energy. “We can modify an old quadcopter base and attach an extended-range receiver. Maybe even a GPS uplink.”

Chrome bounced on his heels. “Can we make the shell look cool this time? Last one looked like a bug got stepped on.”

Senku gave him a look. “Function over fashion.”

Chrome pouted. “But cool and functional would be, like… peak science.”

“…Fine. One chrome-colored drone coming up.”

They both grinned.

Within minutes, the lab became a symphony of clinking tools and humming circuits. Chrome laid out wires and batteries while Senku calibrated the motherboard.

“Okay,” Senku said, soldering a wire with practiced ease, “the thermographic camera should be able to detect residual heat from labs that have been used recently. If we fly it low enough, we can catch even minimal signatures.”

“And if we add a motion sensor, we can spot traps before we walk into them,” Chrome added, already piecing together the wiring harness.

“Good call. Remind me to test that range so it doesn’t freak out every time a bird flaps its wings.”

As Senku adjusted the lenses on the camera mount, he noticed Chrome carefully polishing the drone’s casing with a scrap of soft cloth.

“You naming it already?”

Chrome froze. “Maybe…”

Senku smirked. “What is it this time?”

“…Mirage. Like, y’know, sneaky and mysterious.”

Senku actually paused. “That’s… not terrible.”

Chrome beamed.

Once the drone’s arms were secured and the rotors tested for spin speed, Senku activated the interface panel.

A low whir filled the room, lights blinking in a smooth rhythm. Chrome clutched the remote with both hands like it was the holy grail.

“Moment of truth,” Senku muttered. “Launching test in 3… 2…”

The drone lifted cleanly into the air, stable and smooth, hovering above them like a proud hawk.

“YES!!” Chrome shouted, fist-pumping.

Senku let out a low whistle. “Not bad. Not bad at all.”

The drone did a few sharp rotations, then zipped from one side of the lab to the other. It was fast. Sleek. Responsive.

“You said within a day,” Chrome said breathlessly. “It’s not even dinner yet.”

Senku leaned back, wiping a smudge of oil off his cheek. “Science works fast when you’re not being harassed by mafia meetings and emotional blackmail.”

“Or hangovers.”

“…That too.”

As the drone hovered gently back into Chrome’s hands, Senku looked at it with a strange sort of pride. Not just for the machine—but for the moment.

“We’ll deploy Mirage tomorrow,” he said softly. “If we’re lucky, it’ll lead us to another Project Miracle site.”

Chrome nodded. “And if we’re not lucky?”

Senku’s eyes narrowed, something sharp flashing behind them. “Then we get creative.”

Their moment of triumphant silence was shattered by the sound of the lab door creaking open.

“Quality check,” came Tsukasa’s deep, amused voice from the doorway.

Both Senku and Chrome looked up—Chrome was still cradling the drone like it was a newborn puppy, and Senku was mid-swig from his water bottle, sweat-damp hair sticking to his forehead.

Tsukasa stepped inside with that deliberate calm he always carried—equal parts grace and quiet authority. His eyes scanned the room: scattered wires, loose bolts, a very alive-looking drone, and two very smug-looking scientists.

Then his gaze settled on the hovering drone.

“It’s already operational?” he asked, brows raised.

Senku tossed his water bottle onto the table with a heavy clink and smirked. “Operational and tested. Mirage is ready to fly.”

Chrome nodded rapidly. “We got it to hover, spin, run heat sensors, and detect movement under five feet in twenty minutes flat! It’s so cool!”

Tsukasa walked closer, watching the still-hovering drone with genuine interest. “Then we don’t need to wait until tomorrow. We’ll deploy it tonight.”

Senku’s smirk deepened, eyes gleaming with a cocky sort of pride. “Told you we’d get it done in a day.”

Chrome grinned and turned to Senku, holding out a fist.

Senku bumped it with his own, their knuckles clicking in unison like a little thunderclap of victory.

Tsukasa chuckled at the exchange, the sound low and affectionate. “You two are dangerous when you’re bored.”

Senku gave him a wink. “You haven’t seen anything yet.”

Chrome grinned wider. “We’ll save the fireworks for when Mirage finds something juicy.”

The drone hovered above them with perfect stillness, almost as if it were listening.

Tsukasa watched Mirage drift slowly down onto its landing pad with a faint hum, like the thing was satisfied with its own brilliance. He crossed his arms.

“Next up is weapons,” he said, voice serious now. “We’ll need a fresh set if this mission’s going to work.”

Senku stretched his arms overhead, popping his shoulders. “What, you think Chrome and I are going in unarmed? I’m flattered you think I can win a fistfight, but—”

Tsukasa walked over, gently brushing Senku’s damp bangs back to kiss his temple.

“I’ll be back soon,” he murmured.

But before he could turn fully, Senku grabbed the front of his shirt and tugged.

“I’m coming with,” Senku said, firm.

Tsukasa blinked. “You just finished an all-day build.”

“You gave me authority, remember?” Senku grinned, cocky. “Second most powerful figure in the underworld and all that.”

Tsukasa gave a quiet sigh, lips twitching into a fond smile. “Alright, sweetheart. Let’s go.”

---

The weapons warehouse was tucked in the outskirts of the city, a steel structure masquerading as a meat-packing front. Inside, the air reeked of gun oil and stale smoke, dimly lit by flickering fluorescent lights that buzzed overhead. Tsukasa walked in with his usual quiet dominance, flanked by two bodyguards, while Senku strolled beside him, hands in his coat pockets, expression unreadable—but far from uncomfortable.

The dealer—thick-built, weathered, and twitchy-eyed with a gold tooth that caught the light—greeted them with forced cheer. “Tsukasa. Always a pleasure.”

Senku let his gaze wander lazily over the weapons on display. Compact submachine guns, smoke grenades, sleek blades with biometric grips, even a few prototype shock traps. His brain was already sketching out modifications before the dealer finished talking.

Then, the man’s eyes flicked toward him.

“Didn’t know you were bringing eye candy today,” the dealer remarked with a grin that tried too hard.

Senku didn’t so much as blink. He tilted his head slightly, already counting down in his head.

Three.

Two.

One—

The temperature in the room dropped. Not literally, but it felt like it. Tsukasa didn’t so much as twitch, but his presence shifted—danger wrapped in silk.

“What did you say?” Tsukasa asked, voice as smooth as always, but cold enough to frost steel.

The dealer laughed, awkward now. “C’mon, it’s a compliment. I mean, guy like him’s too pretty for this kind of work.”

Senku opened his mouth, probably to lob back a sharp insult—but Tsukasa was faster.

With a motion too fluid to be anything but practiced, Tsukasa reached across the table, grabbed the man by the collar, and slammed him face-first into a crate of knives. The impact echoed, metal clattering. One blade nicked the man’s cheek; blood bloomed instantly.

“Try that again,” Tsukasa said coolly, pressing him into the wood like he was pinning a note, “and I’ll hang your jawbone on the wall myself.”

The guards didn’t so much as shift. They’d seen this version of him before.

And so had Senku.

He didn’t flinch. Didn’t recoil. Just stood there, observing the scene with the same analytical calm he used in the lab. If anything, his brow ticked slightly—curious more than anything.

After a moment, Tsukasa released the man with a shove. The dealer scrambled backward, bleeding and shaking, wisely choosing silence this time.

Tsukasa turned back toward Senku, casually brushing imaginary lint off his coat. “Apologies for the mess.”

Senku was still, his fingers twitching faintly in his pocket—not from fear, but something closer to adrenaline. Or maybe something a little darker.

“You okay?” Tsukasa asked, softer now.

Senku finally looked at him, voice flat but edged. “You didn’t need to do that.”

Tsukasa’s jaw tensed. “I wanted to. You’re not some pretty ornament. No one gets to talk about you like you’re a possession—unless they’re me.”

There was a long pause before Senku exhaled, lips twitching at the corners.

Then, quietly, he said, “I like when you’re possessive.”

Tsukasa blinked once, surprised.

Senku stepped in, chin tilted up, a smirk tugging at his mouth. “You losing your cool over me? That’s hot.”

The silence crackled between them like static.

Tsukasa huffed a low chuckle, closing the space between them until their bodies brushed. “You’re dangerous.”

“I’m your dangerous,” Senku said with a wink.

Tsukasa didn’t even try to argue.

“…We’re still taking the shock traps,” he said dryly, before turning to the dealer who was now pretending to be invisible. “Wrap them. We’ll pay for the silence.”

Senku followed him out, hands still in his pockets, mind already racing with weapon upgrades, electric coils, and how many more times he could get Tsukasa to lose his temper like that before the week was over.

---

Soon it was nightfall.

The van was parked off the gravel path, hidden behind thick trees and a crumbling billboard that once advertised strawberries. Inside, the glow of computer screens lit up Senku and Chrome’s faces as they hunched over the live feed from Mirage.

“Infrared shows movement, no heat anomalies in the main hall. But,” Senku said, eyes narrowing, “those energy spikes? They’re booting something up in the sublevel.”

Chrome peered over the monitor, sweat beading at his temple. “That’s definitely one of the Project Miracle labs, right?”

“Bingo. Lab 03-Beta. I know the layout—helped design it before everything went to hell.”

Just as Mirage hovered outside the building’s perimeter, the earpiece crackled.

“We’re moving in,” Tsukasa’s voice came through—calm and steady, even as the sound of boots crunching gravel echoed behind it. “Hyoga, left flank. Ukyo, cover the rear.”

“Mirage is feeding you the entry point now,” Senku said into his mic. “Northwest wall, ventilation port. Manual override on the inside—standard fail-safe.”

Chrome shifted beside him, nerves bristling. “You sure you don’t wanna be closer to the action?”

Senku gave him a smirk. “Chrome, I am the action.”

---

Inside the lab, the air was colder than expected—too sterile, the kind of chill that hinted at cryo units, or worse. Hyoga and Tsukasa entered side by side, moving through the half-lit corridors with quiet precision. Broken monitors flickered weakly. Mirage floated behind them, a silent observer, recording everything.

Ukyo’s voice pinged in the comms. “This place isn’t abandoned. No dust, no signs of decay. Someone cleaned house.”

Hyoga stepped over a set of oddly fresh footprints. “And they left in a hurry.”

They reached the core terminal chamber, finding it eerily pristine. The terminals were active, a low hum rising from the walls.

But no one was there.

Just as Tsukasa was about to speak, the drone picked up something strange on the infrared. A section of the wall was too warm—too regular. A secret door.

Tsukasa pressed his hand to the surface, felt along the seams. Nothing.

“We’ve got something hidden here,” he said. “But it’s not responding to thermal pressure or manual triggers.”

Back in the van, Senku’s eyes lit up. “Tch. I know that build. If it’s still using the old-gen locks, there’s a failsafe switch inside the wiring conduit, two panels to the left of the biometric scanner.”

Chrome’s hands flew across the keyboard, overlaying the drone’s scan with Senku’s blueprint schematic.

“There,” Chrome pointed. “That’s it!”

Inside the lab, Tsukasa popped the second panel, brushing away dust and worn insulation to reveal the hidden switch. One flick and a mechanical click echoed through the chamber. The wall hissed open, revealing a short, sterile hallway beyond, glowing red under emergency lighting.

Tsukasa and Hyoga moved forward, guns drawn, Mirage humming silently just above their heads.

The corridor curved—and opened into a wide control chamber. In the center of the room stood a gaunt man with sunken eyes, dressed in what looked like a torn lab coat and metal shackles that clanked when he turned. His back was to them, fingers flying over a digital interface glowing with Project Miracle’s symbol. Data streamed across the screen, systems reactivating—dangerously so.

“Hands where I can see them!” Hyoga barked, raising his weapon.

The man spun around, stumbling back, hands raised high.

“Please—don’t shoot!” he cried, voice raw with panic.

Tsukasa froze. It was instinct—he could tell immediately this wasn’t an attacker. The man’s wrists were red and bruised from the heavy cuffs. His posture wasn’t aggressive—he was terrified.

Back in the van, Mirage relayed the sound clearly.

Senku jolted upright, his breath catching.

That voice.

“…Wait,” he whispered, eyes wide. “Wait, wait—don’t touch him!”

He fumbled for his comms. “Tsukasa! Hold your position. Don’t hurt him. I’m on my way. Please.”

There was a pause. A long one.

“…You sure?” Tsukasa’s voice asked cautiously through the line.

Senku’s reply was immediate. “I’m sure. Just give me five minutes.”

Tsukasa glanced once more at the trembling man before him. A man who looked like he'd seen too much, endured too long. He gave a short nod to Hyoga, who lowered his weapon slightly.

In the van, Chrome hesitated at the wheel. “Senku, are you sure this is a good idea? What if it’s a trap?”

Senku’s hands shook slightly as he gripped the edge of the console. “Chrome. I’m not asking you. I’m telling you. Drive.”

Chrome nodded slowly, shifted gears, and slammed on the accelerator.

Minutes later, tires screeched outside the lab. The front door burst open.

Senku tore through the corridor, Mirage hovering just ahead of him, leading him like a digital ghost. He didn’t even hesitate when he saw the red glow of the inner chamber.

“You’re alive!” Senku shouted, breathless, and ran straight toward the man standing between Hyoga and Tsukasa.

The man looked up, startled—barely had time to speak before Senku crashed into him, arms wrapping around his thin frame.

His knees buckled slightly under the weight of it—of emotion, of recognition. He clung to Senku like someone waking from a long nightmare.

A spark—faint but undeniable—flared in his eyes.

Tsukasa watched the scene unfold, chest tight. He’d never seen Senku like this. Not even during his darkest nights. This wasn’t relief. This was something deeper. A reunion stitched together by old wounds.

Tsukasa stepped forward, voice low, still holding guard but now uncertain. “…Sweetheart. You know this man?”

Senku pulled back slowly, his eyes wet with unshed emotion but his expression controlled, reverent.

He looked up at Tsukasa and nodded, voice barely above a whisper.

“Of course. This is Dr. Xeno… my mentor.”

---

The atmosphere in Tsukasa's mansion was heavier than usual, the weight of Xeno's return hanging thick in the air. It had been a long time since Senku had seen his mentor, and even longer since he had been in this room. He stood in the doorway of the guest bedroom, watching as Xeno sat silently at the edge of the bed, staring at the untouched plate of food before him.

The room itself was as Senku remembered: a mix of sterile precision and chaotic genius. Workbenches with half-finished projects, blueprints taped to the walls, and the lingering smell of something once warm now long cold.

Senku swallowed the lump in his throat and walked closer to the table, where Xeno still hadn’t moved a muscle. His mentor’s eyes were distant, clouded with memories Senku couldn’t reach.

He stood beside him. “What? Afraid they’re gonna poison you?” Senku chuckled, trying to lighten the mood, but the laugh felt hollow in the quiet room.

Xeno didn’t react. His gaze was still fixed on the plate of food, his face impassive, as though the simplest task—eating—had become insurmountable.

Senku sighed softly, running a hand through his hair. He wasn’t sure how to fix this. But he had to try.

He grabbed the spoon, scooping up a bite of food. His eyes flickered to Xeno’s, seeking some sign of acknowledgment, then brought the spoon to his own mouth. “See?” he said, speaking slowly as if Xeno hadn’t heard him in years. “It’s not poisoned. Just good old-fashioned chicken soup.”

He waited a moment, and when Xeno didn’t respond, Senku’s heart clenched.

He took another spoonful, but this time, instead of eating it himself, he held it up to Xeno’s lips. “Come on, Xeno. You’ve gotta eat something.”

It was a moment before Xeno’s eyes flickered toward the spoon. Then—slowly, as though it was a monumental effort—he opened his mouth and allowed the bite to be fed to him.

Senku exhaled a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding, relief flooding through him. Gently, he continued feeding Xeno, bite by bite, his hand steady even as his heart raced with the weight of the situation. It felt intimate, tender—a side of Senku he didn’t usually show. But this wasn’t just about getting food into Xeno’s body. This was about reaching the man he had once looked up to, the man who had taught him so much.

The silence stretched between them, but it was no longer oppressive. As Senku fed Xeno, he spoke softly, his words floating in the stillness. “You don’t have to say anything right now. Just… just let me help you.”

Xeno didn’t reply. But Senku didn’t expect him to.

The only sound was the soft clink of the spoon as it met the plate, the quiet shuffle of Senku’s movements as he fed Xeno, and the occasional deep breath from Xeno himself. It was slow, methodical, like a routine they had once shared long ago. And maybe, just maybe, it was the first step in bringing Xeno back from the silent abyss he had been lost in for so long.

Senku continued feeding him, not caring how much time passed. It wasn’t about the food anymore. It was about showing Xeno that someone was here, that he wasn’t alone, that he was safe.

And for the first time since he had entered the room, Senku saw a small, almost imperceptible shift in Xeno’s expression—something that resembled a spark of life.

As the final bite of food was finished, Senku paused, holding the spoon in mid-air for just a moment too long. His eyes lingered on Xeno’s face, hoping for more signs of life, something to let him know that his mentor wasn’t as lost as he seemed. And then, it happened.

Xeno’s lips parted slightly, and from somewhere deep within the quiet of his soul, a soft, broken sound emerged. It was just a whisper, barely audible, but it hit Senku like a physical blow.

“I’m sorry.”

Senku froze. His grip on the spoon tightened, his heart pounding in his chest. He had expected many things, but not this. Not this raw vulnerability from the man who had always been so composed, so in control.

But before Senku could respond, Xeno’s body trembled. A sob, harsh and uncontrolled, wracked his frame. His hands shook, his face buried in his palms as if trying to push away the weight of the words he couldn’t stop repeating.

“I’m sorry… I’m sorry…” he chanted, each word coming out as more desperate than the last. His voice cracked with sorrow, each syllable weighed down with guilt.

Senku’s heart clenched tighter, a tightness that had nothing to do with anger, but everything to do with the pain he felt for the man who had taught him so much, who had been so broken by the world they had once been part of.

For the first time, Senku’s usual calm façade crumbled. A hot tear slipped down his cheek before he could even think to stop it. And then, another followed, and then more, until his face was wet with grief he had never allowed himself to feel. For a moment, Senku simply sat there, silently letting the tears flow, because he didn’t have the words, not for this moment.

Xeno was a man who had given everything, who had sacrificed so much to push forward the boundaries of science and life. But in the end, he was still just a man. A man who had been broken by forces far stronger than him.

Senku wiped his cheek with the back of his hand, but the tears wouldn’t stop. He leaned forward, resting a hand on Xeno’s shoulder, his voice soft, steady—an anchor in the storm of emotion. “It’s gonna be okay, Xeno.”

Xeno shook his head violently, tears spilling from his own eyes now, his body shuddering with the force of his sobs. "No, it’s not. I’ve done so many terrible things. I—"

Senku cut him off, his voice firm, yet filled with the quietest of hopes. “You’re here now. You’re alive. And you’re not alone anymore. It’s gonna be okay.”

For a long moment, neither of them spoke. The sobs echoed in the quiet room, but this time, there was no judgment, no expectation. It was just the sound of two broken people finding some small comfort in each other’s presence.

Senku stayed by Xeno’s side, his hand still on his shoulder, letting the silence stretch between them. His tears weren’t just for Xeno’s pain, but for the broken pieces of himself that he had never let anyone see, the pieces he had spent years pretending didn’t exist. And somehow, with Xeno’s pain, those pieces began to heal.

Eventually, Xeno’s sobs quieted, but he remained still, as if the weight of his guilt still clung to him like a shadow.

Senku exhaled deeply, steadying himself. “You don’t have to apologize. We’ll fix this, together. Just… let me help you.”

Xeno's voice faltered, and the words seemed to get stuck in his throat. His chest hitched as he tried to force them out, but the weight of the thought was too much. "When you went missing I..." His voice cracked, and he trailed off, unable to finish the sentence.

Senku didn’t need him to finish. He understood, more than Xeno could possibly know. He could hear the pain in the man’s voice, feel it in the tremor of his hands, the deep exhaustion in his posture. It was the pain of a mentor who had failed, of a man who had lost the one person he cared about.

Without saying a word, Senku pulled Xeno into a tight embrace, holding him close as if trying to shield him from all the ghosts of the past. He didn’t speak; he didn’t need to. Sometimes words weren’t enough. Sometimes, all you could do was hold someone, let them feel the warmth of another person, the comfort of knowing they weren’t alone.

Xeno stiffened at first, the shock of the embrace hitting him, but then he gave in, sinking into Senku’s arms. He let out a shaky breath, his body trembling once more, but this time it wasn’t from guilt. It was from the weight of the relief that came with being held, with being cared for, something he hadn’t allowed himself to feel in years.

Senku held him even tighter, murmuring softly, “You’re not alone, Xeno. I’m right here. I’m not going anywhere.”

The words were simple, but they held more weight than anything else Senku could have said. It was a promise.

Xeno's tears began to flow again, though quieter now, as if finally allowing himself to mourn for everything he had lost, for everything he had feared he’d never get back. But this time, there was a sense of hope that hadn’t been there before. A belief that maybe, just maybe, things could be different this time.

Senku didn’t pull away. He stayed with him, silent, feeling the man’s heartbeat slowly steady against his chest. They didn’t need to speak. In the quiet of the moment, there was understanding. The past was heavy, but the future wasn’t written yet. And they would face it together.

Finally, Xeno whispered, his voice raw, “I never wanted to lose you. I thought... I thought I’d failed you.”

Senku’s grip tightened, and he smiled faintly, his voice low but sure. “You didn’t fail me. And you won’t.”

And for the first time in a long while, Xeno allowed himself to believe that maybe he hadn’t failed. Maybe, just maybe, there was still a chance to make things right.

---

Outside the door, Tsukasa leaned quietly against the frame, arms crossed over his broad chest, head tilted just enough to catch the muffled sounds from inside.

He didn’t intrude. He didn’t need to.

The soft murmur of Senku’s voice, the tremble of Xeno’s broken apologies, and the eventual silence that followed—it all told him what he needed to know. Tsukasa closed his eyes for a moment, listening, letting the weight of it settle.

Senku had come so far. From a caged, half-starved genius with fire in his eyes and scars on his back, to the man inside that room—holding someone else through their worst moment, offering comfort instead of only logic, warmth instead of walls.

A small smile tugged at the corner of Tsukasa’s mouth.

He was proud. Not in the loud, boastful way. No—this was a quiet kind of pride, rooted deep in love, in admiration, in watching someone you care for become stronger in a way that matters.

For so long, Senku had been the one who needed saving. But now… now he was the one doing the saving.

“It’s your turn,” Tsukasa murmured under his breath, almost like a benediction. “Your turn to be someone’s light.”

He stayed there a while, just listening. Not to intrude, but to bear witness. Because even though the past still left bruises on their hearts, the future was being rewritten with every small moment like this.

And Tsukasa would be right there—watching, supporting, protecting—no matter how long it took.

Chapter Text

The morning light filtered softly through the curtains, casting pale stripes of gold across the quiet room. The stillness was warm—peaceful in a way neither of them had known for a long, long time.

Senku stirred slightly, blinking sleep from his eyes before realizing he hadn't moved all night. His arms were still wrapped around Xeno, their bodies still pressed together where they’d sat, upright on the edge of the bed. Xeno hadn’t let go either. In fact, his head now rested gently against Senku’s shoulder, breaths slow and steady. He looked… calm. Safe.

Senku didn’t move. Didn’t want to. For once, it wasn’t about equations or escape routes or fixing the world—it was just about being there.

A soft knock broke the silence.

“Sweetheart?” Tsukasa’s voice came muffled through the door. “We have a meeting in ten.”

Senku groaned quietly, resting his forehead against the crown of Xeno’s silver hair. “Do I really have to?”

Xeno stirred, barely, and looked up at him with bleary eyes. Then, wordlessly, he mouthed, ‘Don’t go.’

Senku’s heart tugged. His hand unconsciously tightened around Xeno’s shoulder.

Outside, there was a pause. Then Tsukasa’s voice came again, softer now—gentler than velvet. “If you don’t want to.”

Senku could hear the smile in it. The understanding. The permission.

“I don’t,” Senku said simply, not even pretending to sound regretful. “I want to stay here. With him.”

No argument came from the hallway. Just a quiet chuckle and the sound of footsteps walking away.

Senku looked down at Xeno, whose expression was somewhere between embarrassed and grateful, his cheeks slightly flushed. Senku offered a small smirk, but the edges of it were fond.

“Well,” he said, tucking a strand of silver hair behind Xeno’s ear, “looks like I’m skipping work today.”

Xeno’s voice was hoarse. “You always did hate meetings.”

Senku snorted. “Yeah, but I like this one.”

They didn’t move for a long time. Not because they were too tired—but because for the first time in years, neither of them felt like they had to run.

The silence was warm, almost sacred. But Senku—being Senku—wasn’t one to let it linger too long.

“Let’s get you some sunlight,” he murmured, his voice gentle but teasing as he brushed a few strands of hair from Xeno’s eyes.

Xeno groaned faintly in protest, already dreading what that meant, but before he could retreat into the blankets, Senku was already tugging at his hand. “Come on, you mole. Vitamin D won’t kill you.”

Reluctant but obedient, Xeno allowed himself to be led. Their hands remained clasped as they left the room, barefoot and quiet through the polished halls of Tsukasa’s mansion. The morning was bright but not harsh, golden light spilling through high windows and dappling the marble floors. Senku didn’t speak, and neither did Xeno—words weren’t needed, not with the warmth of a hand in his and the gentle pull forward.

By the time they stepped into the garden, Xeno had to squint, blinking rapidly at the sudden flood of sunlight. His feet sank into soft grass, and a breeze carried the scent of flowers, freshly turned soil, and something oddly sweet. He blinked again and took it in.

It was… beautiful.

A wide stone path curved gently through rows of blooming lavender, winding past thick rose bushes and orderly hedges. Further down, there were small patches of vegetables and wildflowers, blending science and nature in a quiet symphony. There was even a koi pond, lazily glinting under the sun.

Xeno stood still, eyes wide—not in awe, but in disbelief. And then, without warning, he exhaled sharply, the tension in his shoulders visibly slipping away.

He hadn’t realized just how heavy his chains still felt until this very moment.

Senku, still holding his hand, gave it a small squeeze and said with a smirk, “Don’t worry, old man. No one’s gonna bother us here.”

Xeno gave him a look, the corner of his mouth twitching. “Who are you calling old man, brat?”

The words weren’t bitter. They were dry and amused—familiar in a way that hit something warm and nostalgic in Senku’s chest.

And then Xeno laughed.

Just a breath. A chuckle.

But it was real.

Senku’s grin broke wide, genuine and bright, and he leaned a little closer. “That’s the sound I’ve been missing.”

Xeno rolled his eyes, but his hand never left Senku’s. They wandered deeper into the garden, Senku leading, pointing things out casually like a tour guide who lived there—which, at this point, he kind of did.

“This was the first place Tsukasa brought me when I got here,” Senku said, voice a touch softer. “Said it might help. Honestly? I thought he was wasting time.”

He stopped near a small stone planter tucked behind a tree. Inside was a tiny, sprouting green stem, guarded by a makeshift sign made from a Popsicle stick. In neat, childish letters, it read: Chloroboi.

Xeno stared. “You named a plant?”

“I raised a plant,” Senku corrected proudly. “That’s Chloroboi. Grew it from a seed I found. This little guy survived being accidentally stepped on, drought, and a rogue squirrel. He’s basically my kid now.”

Xeno blinked.

Then, another laugh escaped—this one a little louder, a little freer. His chest shook with it, and his eyes crinkled in a way Senku hadn’t seen in years. He covered his mouth, almost embarrassed, but Senku only laughed with him.

“You’re ridiculous,” Xeno said, wiping his eye with the back of his hand.

“Yeah, but you’re laughing,” Senku said, smile still stretched wide. “I’ll take that as progress.”

And it was. Because for the first time since they brought him back, Dr. Xeno wasn’t just surviving—he was living. And Senku? He was right there with him, guiding him toward the light.

The hours drifted by quietly in the garden, time slipping through their fingers like sun-warmed water. Senku and Xeno sat beneath the old olive tree, its leaves fluttering in the breeze like lazy butterflies. Xeno had stopped flinching at every sound, had even started leaning into the sunlight without hesitation—his hands resting over his knees, wrists still raw but no longer trembling.

The sky was turning gold and rose when Senku finally broke the silence.

“We’ve got about an hour till dinner,” he said, stretching his arms overhead with a dramatic yawn. “Want to see the lab?”

Xeno’s head turned, intrigued despite himself. “They have a lab?”

Senku smirked, proud as ever. “Tch. Of course they do. Tsukasa might run a criminal empire, but the man has taste. Plus, he knew I’d go crazy without somewhere to blow stuff up.”

Xeno arched an eyebrow. “And he let you near explosive compounds?”

“Supervised. At first,” Senku said with a wink. Then he added, more teasingly, “But just so you know, there's another scientist there.”

Xeno’s face twitched—just a fraction—but Senku caught it.

“It’s alright,” Senku said, voice softer now. “Chrome’s not like… the others. He’s young, sharp, a little chaotic, but he’s one of the good ones. You’ll like him. Eventually.”

Xeno didn’t answer immediately, his eyes scanning the horizon as the sun dipped lower, gilding the garden in a molten orange. His mouth parted as if to object, but then he nodded, almost shyly.

“I suppose… it wouldn’t hurt to look.”

Senku’s grin returned in full force, and he jumped to his feet, offering a hand. “Then come on, Dr. Xeno. Time to see where the magic happens.”

And for the first time in what felt like years, Xeno reached up—not because he had to, but because he wanted to. He took Senku’s hand, steady and warm, and let himself be pulled up toward whatever strange, beautiful future awaited.

The walk back through the mansion was quiet at first, the air tinted with the rich glow of the setting sun filtering through tall windows. Their footsteps echoed lightly against marble floors, the occasional breeze rustling the heavy drapes. Xeno’s gait was still tentative—each step calculated—but Senku’s grip remained steady on his hand, reassuring without being overbearing.

Every now and then, someone would pass by—either a suited guard, a house attendant, or one of Tsukasa’s men. Each of them offered Senku a respectful nod, some with a quiet, “Sir,” or “Evening, Senku-sama.”

Senku didn’t flinch. Didn’t even look their way. He kept walking like this was normal. Like he was normal.

Xeno furrowed his brow, glancing after a particularly intimidating man in a black suit who’d bowed slightly at the waist.

“…Why do they keep nodding at you?”

Senku blinked, like he’d just now noticed. Then gave a sheepish grin. “Ah. Yeah. About that…”

He scratched the back of his head.

“I may or may not be the underboss here.”

Xeno stopped walking. “…You what.”

“I mean,” Senku said, still too casual for someone who just confessed to being part of a crime empire’s upper hierarchy, “Tsukasa insisted, you know—engineering a war drone, stabilizing the economy of his black market empire.”

Xeno just stared at him.

Senku gave a smug shrug. “Technically I outrank half the guys in this building. They just don’t try me because I’ll hit them with a logic bomb and an actual bomb.”

“I leave you alone for a few years,” Xeno muttered, half to himself, “and you become a warlord’s right-hand man.”

Senku grinned. “You’re lucky I didn’t name myself Supreme Science Warden.”

Xeno groaned, but—quietly, almost imperceptibly—he squeezed Senku’s hand.

And kept walking.

They reached the lab door just as the last rays of sunlight kissed the hallway walls in gold. The polished steel gleamed beneath the light, reflecting their joined hands—still holding on like neither was ready to let go.

Senku paused just before reaching for the panel. He turned slightly to face Xeno, eyes softer than usual. “Will you be okay?”

There was a brief hesitation before Xeno gave a quiet nod. “I’ll try.”

That answer—honest, vulnerable, real—made Senku’s smile bloom in full. Not his usual smug, lopsided grin. Something smaller. Warmer.

His mind drifted, just for a second, to another time. A different version of himself—lost, guarded, on edge—and how it was Gen who used to take his hand with a reassuring squeeze, and Tsukasa who always asked the same question: Are you okay?

Now it was his turn.

A full-circle kind of feeling.

“What’s with that face?” Xeno asked, narrowing his eyes, suspicious.

Senku blinked out of the memory, still smiling.

“Just reminiscing.”

Xeno rolled his eyes, but the corner of his mouth twitched. “Tch. Wipe that stupid smile off your face, brat.”

That earned a short laugh out of Senku. “Old man.”

“Gremlin.”

They both chuckled softly, the tension between them slipping away like dust off old bones. For a second, it was just them again—mentor and mentee, two scientists against the world.

And as Senku placed his hand on the lab door, still holding onto Xeno with the other, he felt that same old spark in his chest.

This time, though, it wasn’t just science.

It was healing.

The lab door hissed open with a soft pneumatic whirr, revealing the familiar hum of machines, the faint tang of solder and metal in the air, and the unmistakable chaos of invention mid-process.

And then—

“Senku! You’re finally here!” Chrome’s voice rang out like an explosion, too loud for the size of the room.

Xeno flinched—but only slightly. Not like Senku had, once upon a time, when even footsteps made him tense. Still, the sudden noise sent a jolt through his spine, and his grip on Senku’s hand tightened just a fraction.

Senku didn’t miss it.

He rolled his eyes in mock annoyance, a half-smile tugging at his lips. “Tch. Chrome, keep it down before you trigger a heart attack or an unstable isotope.”

Chrome winced, scratching the back of his head sheepishly. “Right, right—sorry! I got excited!”

He looked over and finally noticed the older man beside Senku. “Wait… is that—?”

Senku squeezed Xeno’s hand gently and stepped aside just enough to let Chrome get a better look. “Chrome, meet Dr. Xeno. The reason I know half of what I do.”

Chrome’s eyes widened, and he gave a half-nervous, half-awestruck wave. “Holy crap. You’re real.”

Xeno blinked at the boy’s energy, caught somewhere between overwhelmed and mildly fascinated. He leaned in a little toward Senku and muttered dryly, “Does he ever turn the volume down?”

Senku grinned. “Not unless he’s asleep. And even then, he mumbles equations in his dreams.”

Xeno let out a quiet breath—part sigh, part laugh. He wasn’t used to this kind of environment. It wasn’t clinical. It wasn’t cold. It was messy, alive… warm.

And he could already feel that warmth creeping into his chest, bit by bit.

Chrome had gone back to work now, rambling about his newest experiment, talking fast, gesturing wide—and still keeping half an eye on them.

Senku led Xeno deeper into the lab, still holding his hand. Still steady.

“Don’t worry,” he said under his breath. “This place saved me, too.”

They’d settled into an easy rhythm—two scientists lost in the language of numbers and ideas. The whiteboard was covered in chaotic scribbles: formulas half-solved, reaction chains, and side notes only they could decipher. On the table sat a handful of unfinished gadgets—some practical, some just for fun. A magnetic levitator that only hovered lopsided. A rudimentary stirling engine. A mock-up of a chemical battery using citrus juice, which had dribbled everywhere. Senku even gave Xeno a little pair of safety goggles—half joke, half genuine habit—and to his own surprise, Xeno had put them on without protest.

It was, for the first time in a long while, peaceful.

Then came the soft click of the lab door opening again.

Gen stepped in quietly, dressed sharply as always but wearing an expression unusually gentle. “Sorry to interrupt, lovebirds,” he said with a teasing lilt, “but Senku, you’re needed in the meeting. Tsukasa asked for you specifically.”

Senku groaned and leaned his head back, dramatically smacking the dry erase marker against his forehead. “Of course he did.”

Xeno looked up from the formula they'd been tinkering with. “Go. I’ll be fine.”

Senku hesitated. He turned fully toward him, gaze lingering. “You sure?”

Xeno nodded, though it was clearly uncertain. “I trust Chrome. And... it’s just a lab.”

Chrome perked up from his seat behind a microscope. “I’ll behave, promise!” He gave Xeno a thumbs-up, but his enthusiasm was tempered, respectful—like he knew this was a test of trust for them both.

Senku lingered just a second longer before finally setting down the marker and stepping toward the door. Gen offered him a small smile as he passed, one that Senku had seen before—back when he was the one barely keeping it together.

And now that smile was meant for Xeno.

Gentle. Quietly proud.

Xeno, seeing it, gave a small nod back. He didn’t smile—but the tension in his shoulders lessened.

As Senku and Gen exited the lab, the door softly clicked shut behind them.

And for the first time, Xeno remained. Not because he had to.

But because maybe... he wanted to.

Suddenly, Xeno was face to face with Chrome. The younger scientist had that usual spark in his eyes—the kind that reminded Xeno of a flame that couldn’t be extinguished, no matter how much darkness tried to snuff it out.

“Come on, Doc,” Chrome said with a wide grin, tapping the board with his marker. “We’ve got equations to solve.”

Xeno blinked at him, caught off guard by the easy enthusiasm. For a moment, that old instinct kicked in—the urge to retreat, to fold inward and hide behind the walls he’d carefully rebuilt over the years.

But then, something strange and unfamiliar stirred inside him. Not dread. Not fear.

Warmth.

For the first time in years, he welcomed another person aside from Senku.

The corners of his mouth twitched, almost uncertain of what they were doing. But it was a smile, small and hesitant. And it was real.

“Well then,” Xeno murmured, adjusting his goggles. “Let’s see if your equations are as sharp as that grin.”

Chrome lit up, triumphant. “That sounds like a challenge, Doc!”

And just like that, the lab felt a little brighter.

---

On the other side of the mansion, the heavy doors to the meeting room creaked open.

Senku strolled in like he owned the place—because in a way, he did. His lab coat fluttered around his legs until he slipped it off and slung it neatly over a nearby coat rack without missing a beat. The other men seated at the long table barely flinched anymore. It was routine by now.

Senku crossed the room in three quick steps and—without asking—settled himself right in Tsukasa’s lap, legs draped casually over one arm of the chair. Tsukasa didn’t even blink, wrapping one arm firmly around Senku’s waist like it was second nature. Which it was.

“What is it this time?” Senku drawled, resting his elbow on Tsukasa’s shoulder. “Please tell me it’s not another 'emergency' about stolen explosives or rival chemists trying to recreate thermite with kitchen supplies.”

Tsukasa’s tone was all business, but his hand never left Senku’s side. “Mirage has been compromised.”

Senku’s smile dropped.

The room went silent. Tension snapped into place like wires drawn tight.

“…Explain,” Senku said, voice low.

Ukyo stepped forward, tapping his tablet and bringing up several drone-captured images across the digital display embedded in the center of the table. “Mirage returned damaged. Tail rotor was clipped by a projectile—not a bullet, but definitely man-made. Whatever it was, it was targeted.”

Yuzuriha chimed in from the other end. “We lost visual ten seconds before extraction. Mirage made it out, but barely.”

Senku leaned forward slightly, frowning. “They know we’re watching.”

“They know more than that,” Tsukasa added, eyes narrowing. “The drone’s memory logs were tampered with. We only got partial data from the last sweep. They erased something.”

Senku clicked his tongue. “So we’re not just dealing with remnants. Someone’s rebooted the Miracle Project… and they’ve got better tech than we accounted for.”

Hyoga, seated just to Tsukasa’s right, folded his hands. “So what’s our move?”

Senku pushed himself up just slightly, perched now with his boots against the edge of the table, hair shadowing his eyes.

“Three labs were reactivated. We already found one—where we picked up Xeno.” His voice softened slightly at the mention of his mentor, then sharpened again. “There are two more. We use Mirage’s surviving data to triangulate which locations are getting fresh power spikes. Chrome’s field sensors should pick up ambient energy leakage—if they’re activating biotech, they’ll need massive power conduits.”

“Won’t that put Chrome at risk?” Yuzuriha asked.

Senku shook his head. “Not if we use Mirage as bait this time. We send a decoy drone, but keep the real one cloaked and passive in the clouds. Let them think they’ve outsmarted us again.”

Ukyo nodded slowly. “And what about on-ground response?”

Tsukasa answered that one. “We split into two teams. One handles surveillance. The other waits near the lab perimeter. The moment they take the bait, we strike.”

“And if we’re wrong?” Hyoga asked.

Senku smirked. “Then we get creative.”

The meeting stretched on for the next four hours, filled with tactics, maps, rotating patrol strategies, and energy fluctuation charts. They plotted safe zones, dead drops, and fallback positions. Code phrases were rehearsed. Protocols for casualties were drawn up.

And all the while—throughout every tense second, as alarms were raised and futures shaped—Senku never once asked to get up from Tsukasa’s lap. And Tsukasa never once asked him to move.

---

Meanwhile, back in the lab…

The silence was only broken by the scratching of chalk on board and the soft clink of glassware. Chrome was furiously scribbling on the whiteboard, muttering to himself, only to pause and peer sideways at Xeno.

“Wait, no, that coefficient doesn’t work, right?” Chrome said, tapping the side of his marker. “What if we double the second variable?”

Xeno adjusted his goggles, seated calmly across the room with a notepad in hand. “You’d cancel out the energy transfer entirely. But…” he paused, eyes lighting up, “if we balance it with a magnetic relay in the final phase…”

“We could power a small field engine without overheating the core!” Chrome shouted, slamming his hand on the table.

Xeno blinked, startled, but only let out a soft, fond chuckle. “Exactly.”

Suddenly, the lab door slammed open with a loud clang, nearly making Chrome drop the flask he was swirling and Xeno jolt out of his chair. Senku barreled in, panting slightly, lab coat flapping around his legs like a banner in the wind.

“For heaven’s sake, Senku,” Xeno muttered, one hand on his chest. “Must you always make such an inelegant entrance?”

“No time for your dramatics, old man,” Senku shot back, closing the door behind him with one sharp motion. “We’ve got a problem. A big one.”

Xeno arched a brow, but the seriousness in Senku’s tone shifted something inside him. Chrome straightened up too, sensing the shift. The calm, productive air of the lab was suddenly saturated with tension.

Senku strode over to the table and planted both hands on it. “Mirage has been compromised.”

Xeno blinked. “Mirage?”

“The drone,” Senku explained. “The one that found you. Its tail rotor got clipped mid-flight. Not by accident—someone shot at it, or launched something. It barely made it back. The worst part? Its memory logs were tampered with. They wiped something.”

Xeno’s eyes narrowed slightly. “You mean… they know?”

“They more than know,” Senku said grimly. “They’re active. Someone’s rebooting the Miracle Project. Same tech, better execution.”

Chrome looked between them, eyes wide. “What do we do now?”

Senku pulled a marker from his pocket and uncapped it with his teeth, moving to the board Chrome had been writing on and wiping half of it clean. “We had a meeting. We’re acting fast.”

He started writing quickly as he spoke, outlining three large circles and connecting them with dotted lines. “Three labs. One was yours, Xeno. That leaves two more. Mirage picked up energy surges from both, but only partially. We’re going to triangulate the data.”

“Using what?” Chrome asked.

“Your field sensors,” Senku said, scribbling a simplified waveform on the corner of the board. “They’re not sensitive enough for high-precision, but if we boost the receiver, we can read ambient energy leaks. If they’re building anything biotech-related, they’ll need huge power draws.”

Xeno stepped closer now, watching the board with his arms folded. “What about extraction and engagement?”

“Two teams,” Senku said without missing a beat. “One team handles aerial surveillance—Mirage will go in again, but this time it’s a decoy. We’ll send a dummy drone with false data trails. Meanwhile, the real Mirage stays cloaked above the clouds, passively gathering intel.”

“And the second team?” Xeno asked.

“They’ll wait near the lab perimeter. As soon as the bait works, we move in fast. No hesitation. We can’t afford another missed opportunity.”

Chrome gave a low whistle. “Sounds risky.”

“Everything we do is risky,” Senku muttered. “But this time we have leverage.”

Xeno eyed the young scientist. “And if the plan fails?”

Senku flashed that cocky smirk, the one that used to frustrate Xeno during late-night lab arguments. “Then we improvise. We always improvise.”

He finally turned around, leaning back against the board, arms crossed.

“I’m going to need both of you,” he said. “Chrome, I need you to start recalibrating the sensors ASAP. And Xeno…”

Xeno straightened slightly, waiting.

Senku’s gaze softened. “I want you helping me run simulations. We need your expertise—especially if they’ve built on top of the original Miracle Project.”

A pause. Then, Xeno gave a single, slow nod. “I’ll do what I can.”

Chrome grinned. “Guess that means we’re back in business.”

Senku's voice was quieter this time, filled with something like hope. “Damn right we are.”

As the last lines of code and formula were drawn out across the whiteboard, and the gears in all their minds clicked into place, Senku paused—mid-sentence, eyes narrowing thoughtfully.

“…Wait.” He turned from the board, facing both Chrome and Xeno. “We’re missing something.”

Chrome blinked. “Uh… we are?”

Senku nodded, voice serious now. “This plan? It’s solid—but it’s also surface-level. Surveillance, decoys, power grids… that’s all great. But the real risk is what they’re building, not just where. And that means we need to go deeper into the Miracle Project.”

Xeno’s hand tightened slightly around the chalk he was holding.

Senku continued, tone calm but sharp. “The Miracle drug—we built it together. I did the chemical architecture. You did the overall systems design. We’re the only two people who actually understand every moving part.”

Chrome stepped back, letting the weight of that settle between them.

“So,” Senku said, folding his arms. “We need another meeting. One that digs into the Miracle Project’s innards. The Familia needs to understand what we’re really up against.”

Xeno froze.

“Meeting,” he repeated, voice tight. “With the… Familia.”

He sounded the word out like it might bite.

Senku, immediately catching on, softened his tone. “Yeah. I mean, just the inner circle, but—”

“No.” Xeno shook his head quickly, stepping back. “Absolutely not. I’m not ready for… that. All those people, the attention, the questions—”

“Okay, okay.” Senku raised both hands gently, stepping toward him. “Then how about this instead…”

He paused just long enough to be reassuring.

“Just Tsukasa.”

Xeno looked up, brows drawn together. “Just him?”

“Yeah,” Senku said with a small smile. “No entourage. No suits or soldiers. Just you, me, and him. Tsukasa’s a great guy, I promise. Protective to a fault, sure, and he looks like he could crack open a mountain with his bare hands—but he’s solid. You’ll see.”

Xeno hesitated, doubt flickering in his eyes.

But… then again, Senku looked so certain. And if someone like him could trust Tsukasa with his life, maybe…

“…Fine,” Xeno said, voice quiet. “If it’s only him.”

Senku grinned. “Good choice.”

He pulled out his phone and hit a quick dial. “Hey, Tsukasa. Mind sparing a few minutes? I’ve got someone I want you to talk to. Privately.”

A quiet hum of agreement came from the other side, and Senku ended the call with a nod.

“Alright, boys,” he said, grabbing his coat. “We’ve got a date with the king of the underworld.”

Chrome tossed a wink at Xeno. “No pressure.”

The three of them—Senku leading confidently, Xeno close by his side with their fingers intertwined, and Chrome bouncing on his heels—stepped out of the lab together. Senku gave Xeno’s hand a gentle squeeze, a silent promise that everything would be alright. Xeno, still stiff with unease but bolstered by the touch, walked with his head just a little higher. The mansion’s golden light spilled down the hallway, warm and steady, and for a moment, it felt like more than just science.

It felt like war preparations.

And the generals were moving into place.

---

As they reached the grand doors of the meeting room, Senku glanced sideways at Xeno, giving his hand one last firm squeeze. “It’ll be alright,” he murmured, voice low but steady.

Xeno nodded, though his expression was tense—like a man about to step onto a battlefield rather than into a discussion.

The heavy doors creaked open, and the grand room inside was dimly lit by the golden glow of the chandelier above. At the far end of the long table, Tsukasa sat like a king on his throne—because, in all fairness, it was his throne. He looked up as they entered, a slow, amused smile curling on his lips.

“Well, well,” Tsukasa said in that smooth, low voice, laced with playful menace. “What’s this, sweetheart? Another boyfriend of yours?”

There was only the slightest edge of jealousy, like a ripple under calm waters, but it was there.

Senku let out a dramatic sigh and released Xeno’s hand, but not before shooting him a look—steady and reassuring, the kind that said ‘you’re safe here.’ He crossed the room without missing a beat and, in one graceful motion, draped himself across Tsukasa’s lap like he owned the place.

Tsukasa’s hands instinctively found Senku’s waist, his grip firm and comforting. He leaned in, brushing his lips against the side of Senku’s head, murmuring just loud enough for the room to hear, “Don’t worry. You’re the only one I’d kill a man for.”

Chrome snorted.

Xeno raised a perfectly unimpressed eyebrow, arms crossing over his chest. “Ugh. Disgusting. Honestly, can’t you two keep the mating rituals to a private corner of the jungle?”

That earned a round of laughter from the room—Chrome giggling, Tsukasa chuckling low, and Senku throwing his head back with a sharp bark of laughter.

“Relax, old man,” Senku shot back, smirking over Tsukasa’s shoulder. “We’re just getting started.”

Xeno rolled his eyes, but there was a flicker of warmth behind his usual disdain. Maybe this wouldn’t be so bad after all.

And so, they got right into it.

Senku leaned forward from Tsukasa’s lap, legs draped lazily over one armrest, eyes sharp with focus. “The Miracle Drug wasn’t just about curing disease,” he began, voice slipping into that authoritative tone he only used when discussing things that truly mattered. “It was designed to rewrite cellular decay. Reverse organ failure. Delay death, even for the terminally ill. You can imagine why every government and underground syndicate wanted it.”

Tsukasa nodded slowly, rubbing small circles into Senku’s waist with his thumb, grounding him.

“The formula’s core component,” Senku continued, “relies on synthesized proteins coded by a nanite delivery system. I designed that part. But it wouldn’t have meant jack without the architecture that could support nanite survival and data sequencing.”

He turned slightly, eyes finding Xeno. “Which is where he comes in.”

All heads turned to Xeno, who stiffened at the attention.

He cleared his throat, visibly trying to push past the lump of unease in his throat. “I… I created the neural scaffold for the nanites,” he began, voice a little too quiet. “The system simulates a decentralized network—so even if a few nodes fail, the collective consciousness of the nanite swarm continues.” His fingers twitched where they rested on the table. “It was… modeled after the human brain.”

His breath hitched slightly. “I—I used to believe the architecture would—”

“—allow them to communicate with dying cells and rewrite their patterns,” Chrome cut in gently, eyes bright with encouragement. He beamed at Xeno like it was the coolest thing in the world. “That part’s genius. Seriously. It’s what makes them adaptive and self-sustaining, right?”

Xeno blinked at him, startled, as if he hadn’t expected anyone to not only follow his train of thought but respect it. He gave a hesitant nod.

“Exactly,” he murmured. “They adapt. Which is why… when misused… they can evolve beyond their original programming.”

“And that’s the danger,” Senku finished, shooting a look at Tsukasa. “Someone out there’s found a way to restart the project. With our blueprints.”

Tsukasa’s jaw tightened. “Then we’ll make sure they regret ever touching them.”

Xeno looked down at his hands, but Chrome gently bumped their elbows together.

“You explained it better than anyone else could’ve,” Chrome said with a soft grin.

And for the first time in a long while, Xeno didn’t feel like a broken tool or a discarded mind. He felt like a scientist again.

A team again.

Chapter Text

That very same night, the skies above the mansion stirred to life.

On the secluded helipad nestled behind the main estate, Mirage II—sleek, silent, cloaked in adaptive optics—lifted smoothly into the air, its rotors whispering against the breeze. High above it, the stars blinked undisturbed.

Meanwhile, the decoy drone—an exact replica of the original Mirage—launched low and fast, its signature easily traceable to draw attention away from the real one. The plan was in motion.

Down in the command room, Chrome hunched over a field sensor interface, eyes darting over real-time readings as the screen flared to life. A sharp ping pulsed across the monitor.

“Got it!” he shouted, startling both Senku and Xeno. “It’s coming from the mountains—east quadrant. Definitely one of the old labs.”

Senku leaned in, eyes scanning the data. “That energy signature matches the original activation codes… No doubt. That’s one of ours.”

Xeno, standing slightly behind them, tensed. His hand twitched at his side, but he didn’t look away. He just nodded.

Within minutes, the extraction team was airborne—Ukyo, Taiju, Hyoga, and three others, armed and prepped for whatever awaited them in the ruins of the past.

Back at the lab, while awaiting updates, Senku and Chrome remained in the quiet hum of the monitoring station. The gentle buzz of servers and the soft beeping of readings filled the air. Xeno stood by the window, eyes distant, arms folded too tightly against himself.

Senku, still leaning over the data panel, caught it first—the way Xeno’s breath hitched slightly with every system ping, the flinch in his shoulders when Chrome tapped the console too fast.

“…You good?” Senku asked casually, not looking up.

Xeno hesitated.

Then, with a small, brittle voice, he spoke. “There was a sound,” he said quietly. “When they brought in new test subjects. A steel cart. Rusted wheels. The scraping was… deafening in that lab.”

Chrome slowly stopped typing.

Xeno continued, fingers twitching slightly at his sides. “They’d bring them in sedated. Some… some didn’t wake up. Others woke up wrong. And every time… that damn cart. That screech.” He swallowed, eyes distant, barely above a whisper. “I hear it in my sleep.”

Neither Chrome nor Senku said anything for a second.

Then Chrome stepped over, nudging his shoulder gently against Xeno’s. “That sound’s not here anymore,” he said. “It’s gone. Just us now.”

Senku didn’t speak either. He simply reached over and held Xeno’s hand, grounding him.

Xeno let out a slow, steady breath. “I’m trying.”

“I know,” Senku murmured.

Just then, the comms line crackled to life.

Ukyo’s voice came through—quiet, grim. “We’ve reached the coordinates.”

A long pause.

“It’s gone.”

Senku stiffened. “Define ‘gone.’”

“Destroyed. Completely,” Ukyo replied. “Looks like it was burned from the inside. No data. No tech left. Whoever got here first made sure of that.”

A heavy silence fell across the room.

High above the clouds, Mirage II soared silently—its cloaking shielding it from every eye below, its optics sweeping the terrain in long, precise arcs. The charred remains of the mountain lab still glowed faintly in its heat vision as the drone curved westward, deeper into uncharted forest.

It didn’t take long.

“There,” Chrome pointed at the pulsing signal on the screen. “Same energy signature. Definitely the second lab.”

But as the image came into focus, Senku's jaw clenched.

“…You’ve got to be kidding me,” he muttered.

The second lab was already gone. Smoke rose from what remained—burnt metal curled like wilted petals, and shattered walls spilled outward in a way that was too clean, too precise to be from an accident. This wasn’t just damage. This was a deliberate wipeout.

Chrome leaned forward. “That’s not time decay. That’s demolition. Someone knew where this lab was… and made sure no one else would ever use it again.”

“Which begs the question…” Senku mused, eyes narrowed, “Who else knows about Miracle? And why are they tearing it down instead of stealing it?”

Xeno’s brow furrowed as he stared at the drone feed, fingers tightening around the back of Chrome’s chair.

“…That level of demolition isn’t random,” he said quietly. “It’s surgical. Whoever did this didn’t just want the research gone—they wanted to control the narrative. No scraps. No salvage.”

Chrome leaned forward. “You think they’re not after the Miracle tech… they’re erasing it?”

Senku, who had been silent, suddenly let out a sharp, amused breath.

“Hah,” he muttered, lips curling into a grin. “Now that’s interesting.”

Chrome blinked. “Uh. That’s… not the reaction I expected.”

Senku stood from his perch, fingers steepled under his chin, eyes practically glowing with curiosity. “Someone’s out there doing the exact same thing we are. Blowing up labs. Killing the project at the root. Efficient. Bold. Scientific.”

“You’re excited?” Chrome asked, baffled.

“Hell yeah,” Senku replied, smirking. “Think about it—we’ve got a shadow player on the board. One smart enough to hit the labs before we even get there. One who knows the old Project Miracle layout, protocols, weaknesses…”

Xeno cut in, frowning. “And one who has the firepower to pull it off and disappear.”

Ukyo’s voice crackled through the comms. “We reviewed Mirage’s telemetry. The projectile that hit it? Not standard issue. It was an EM disruptor dart. Custom mod, with coded targeting—whoever fired it wanted that drone down, not destroyed.”

Senku’s grin widened, now genuinely impressed. “So they’re careful. Tactical. Smart enough to isolate the data stream without triggering failsafes.”

Chrome glanced at him. “You sound like you want to meet this guy.”

“Oh, I definitely do,” Senku said, practically vibrating. “Whoever this is—they’re not just some brute with explosives. This is methodical. Scientific. And they hate Miracle as much as we do.”

Xeno narrowed his eyes slightly. “That kind of precision… it’s military-grade. Not a hired merc. We’re talking trained recon. Black-ops, maybe.”

Senku snapped his fingers. “Exactly. A soldier. One trained for infiltration, sabotage, and vanishing without a trace.”

He turned toward the map feed, eyes burning with new interest.

Ukyo’s voice crackled back over the comms, a little softer this time. “Senku. You guys might want to take a look at this.”

Senku raised a brow. “What is it?”

“Probably nothing,” Ukyo replied, cautious. “Just… something Mirage II picked up near the perimeter of the second site. Not even on the main compound. A few meters off in the forest, actually. It’s small—barely pinged the sensors.”

A new image loaded on the central display. Static at first, then sharpening into view—a partially buried object near a fallen tree. Rectangular. Metallic. Just large enough to be handheld. Whatever it was, it had scorch marks down one side and a fine coating of soot across the casing, like it had been exposed to the blast zone’s edge but tossed there on purpose.

Ukyo continued, “We almost missed it. Doesn’t match any of the original lab equipment specs. It might just be debris.”

Chrome squinted. “What is that… some kind of casing?”

But Senku didn’t answer.

Xeno had gone still.

His eyes fixed on the object—and for a fraction of a second, just a blink—his grip on the chair faltered.

He straightened almost immediately, posture controlled, face neutral. But not neutral enough.

Senku’s head turned slightly.

He saw it.

The subtle shift. The recognition.

And the way Xeno didn’t ask what it was—because he already knew.

“…No readout on it yet,” Ukyo said, oblivious. “We can have it retrieved if you think it matters, but I doubt it’s a clue.”

Chrome shrugged. “Yeah, maybe junk.”

Senku didn’t speak right away. His gaze lingered on Xeno—who had crossed his arms now, eyes locked on the feed but lips drawn tight, calculating. Contained.

The silence stretched.

Then Senku finally said, “Yeah. Junk. Still, have Mirage flag the coordinates. I want it logged.”

Ukyo gave a soft affirmative. “Copy that. Tagging the site.”

The feed blinked out, returning to the map view.

Xeno didn’t say a word.

But Senku’s smirk returned, smaller now. Quieter.

He didn’t press.

Not yet.

But his mind was already racing.

---

The meeting room had never been this loud.

Laughter echoed against concrete walls softened by banners of makeshift celebration—someone, probably Gen or Yuzuriha, had strung up a hand-painted “MISSION CLEARED” sign above the whiteboard. Even Ukyo, usually reserved, allowed himself a rare grin, leaning against the railing with a glass of something fizzy and synthetic in hand.

For once, no one was rushing to prep countermeasures, decode sabotage, or patch damaged equipment. The mood was weightless. Hopeful. A temporary ceasefire from the chaos.

“The last scan came in clean,” Chrome announced, raising his tablet above his head. “All three Miracle labs—wiped. Burned. Gone.”

A round of cheers broke out, loud enough to make even Hyoga glance up with mild amusement.

“You know,” Gen added dramatically, twirling a spoon from the dessert Yuzuriha had forced him to try, “I didn’t think we’d live long enough to see this day. But here we are—science and brute force, working hand in hand!”

His grin found Senku and Tsukasa, who stood side by side at the heart of the group.

All eyes shifted toward them.

“You did it,” Yuzuriha said warmly. “The both of you.”

Tsukasa gave a modest incline of his head, calm as ever. “It wasn’t just us.”

“Maybe not,” Ukyo chimed in from the side, “but without you two? It wouldn’t have happened at all.”

Another round of quiet agreement passed through the room. Subtle nods. Soft claps on backs. Chrome nearly tackled Senku in a hug, only to get elbowed off with a muttered, “Personal space, moron.”

Senku rolled his eyes, but he didn’t pull away from the attention.

The weight of the room shifted again. People drifted to grab drinks or debrief. The chatter resumed.

And for a brief sliver of silence, it was just the two of them—Senku and Tsukasa—in the center of it all.

Tsukasa glanced down at him. “You’re not smiling.”

Senku looked up, eyes glowing with their usual fire. “I’m always smiling. Internally. At molecular levels.”

Tsukasa huffed something between a laugh and a sigh. “It’s okay to let it feel like a win.”

Senku folded his arms, leaning his weight back slightly against the edge of a table. “It is a win. But we both know Miracle wasn’t just three labs.”

Tsukasa nodded. “Still. You stopped it before it spread again. That matters.”

A pause.

Senku’s eyes lingered on him for a beat longer than necessary. The chaos around them faded—muffled, distant.

Their shoulders brushed—just briefly. Intentional. Unspoken.

Tsukasa turned toward him slightly. “So. What now?”

Senku’s smirk sharpened, but his voice dropped, private. “Now? We wait. The real endgame’s still in play.”

“You think the saboteur’s next?”

“I think they’re already watching us.”

Tsukasa tilted his head, studying him. “And if they come for you?”

Senku’s eyes lit up again, challenging. “Let ‘em. I’ve got you, don’t I?”

Tsukasa didn’t smile—but he didn’t have to. The warmth in his gaze said enough.

Just then, Gen fake-gasped dramatically from the buffet line. “Ooooh, what’s this? The power couple of post-apocalyptic warfare, making heart-eyes at each other while the rest of us suffer?”

Senku instantly flipped him off without looking.

Tsukasa chuckled.

But the moment lingered—quiet and steady beneath the noise—like a current neither of them needed to explain.

Because even in a room full of allies…

they were still each other’s constant.

Tsukasa turned slightly, looking down at Senku with quiet contentment, the warm lighting casting soft shadows across his features. Around them, the noise of celebration carried on—unbothered, unaware.

Senku’s eyes stayed on him for a heartbeat longer. Then, without warning, he stepped closer and slid his arms up around Tsukasa’s neck, pulling him in until there was no space left between them.

Tsukasa blinked, surprised only for a second.

Senku’s lips pressed to his—confident, sure, and full of the same heat that always simmered beneath his sarcastic edge. And Tsukasa, never one to waste a moment, leaned into it without hesitation, one strong hand resting at the small of Senku’s back, the other gently cradling the back of his head.

The world dimmed. Time slowed.

They didn’t care that the inner circle was still chatting around them. No one dared interrupt.

When they finally pulled back, they didn’t move far—just close enough to rest their foreheads together, still locked in each other’s hold.

“I could get used to this,” Tsukasa said quietly.

“Please. You already have,” Senku replied, smirking.

But just as Tsukasa was about to reply, a flicker of movement caught Senku’s attention.

From the corner of his eye—a flash of silver.

Xeno, tucked quietly into the edge of the room, stood in half-shadow by the map table, speaking lowly with Chrome. He looked composed as always, but there was a subtle stiffness to his stance. Something measured.

Senku’s smirk twitched wider.

As Chrome waved and turned to walk away, Senku slowly peeled himself out of Tsukasa’s arms.

Tsukasa’s hands lingered on his waist for a second longer, reluctant to let go. His brow furrowed faintly, his gaze silently asking ‘why now?’

Senku gave a playful tilt of his head and a wicked grin.

“Relax,” he purred, turning and walking backward a few steps. “I’ll come back with a prize.”

His tone was low, sultry, and utterly teasing—the kind that only Tsukasa ever got to hear.

Tsukasa exhaled through his nose, a hand dragging down his face in mock exasperation.

“You’re incorrigible.”

Senku winked. “And you love it.”

With that, he turned on his heel and strode toward Xeno, red eyes sharp with mischief and purpose. There was a conversation to be had—a thread to tug.

And maybe, just maybe… answers to uncover.

But Tsukasa watched him go, arms folded and a quiet smirk of his own tugging at his lips.

After all…

Whatever prize Senku planned to come back with—

He knew it wouldn’t be as valuable as what he already held in his arms just moments ago.

---

Senku approached slowly, the hum of conversation around them fading into background noise. Xeno didn’t look up at first—he was still staring down at the data pad Chrome had left behind.

But then—

“I can see the gears turning from across the room,” Senku said smoothly, coming to a casual stop beside him. “You plotting world domination again, Doc?”

Xeno glanced sideways, amused. “Not since Tuesday.”
Senku snorted, leaning one elbow on the edge of the table, his other hand resting lazily in his coat pocket. “And here I thought we agreed on Wednesdays for that kind of talk.”

A beat passed—then Xeno allowed himself a small smile, setting the data pad down.

“You’re in a good mood.”

Senku shrugged. “Hard not to be. We’re still breathing, and the bases are gone.”

Xeno tilted his head, a faint shadow passing behind his eyes.

“Yes… gone.”

They stood in silence for a few moments. Not uncomfortable. Just full of thoughts neither had voiced yet.

Senku was the first to break it, voice softer now. “Do you remember the first prototype lab? The one we built underground, below the thermal vents?”

Xeno huffed a quiet laugh. “The one that almost melted your eyebrows off? Yes.”

“It was the first time I thought…” Senku paused, eyes distant, lips curving faintly. “We might actually pull it off. Real regeneration. Functional nerve healing. Miracle-level recovery. I remember thinking—hell, if this works, we’re gonna change everything.”

Xeno nodded slowly, his smile smaller, more tired now. “I used to think it was our gift to humanity. The kind of science that gets carved into history.”

“And then,” Senku said, with a slight tilt of irony, “it got carved into syringes instead.”

They both laughed—but it wasn’t bitter. It was real, threaded with the shared ache of experience.

“I guess we both know what it became,” Xeno said at last, folding his arms. “An elite weapon. Sold to the highest bidder. Or hoarded. Used to control.”

Senku’s gaze dropped for a moment, jaw flexing. Then—

“And now it’s gone.” He looked back at Xeno, eyes lit—not with sadness, but something lighter. “The labs are ash. The tech’s scrubbed. The formulas we used to worship? Burned.”

Xeno met his gaze, and in that moment, something unspoken passed between them.

Relief. Grief. Pride.

“It feels… cleaner,” Xeno admitted.

“Yeah,” Senku murmured. “Like we finally took a breath after holding it for years.”

They leaned back slightly, shoulder to shoulder now, surrounded by the quiet hum of the room and the distant laughter of their team. There was no ceremony, no fireworks—but this was a victory. And it felt earned.

“I never thought I’d be happy to see our greatest achievement in ruins,” Xeno said quietly.

Senku smirked. “We were never building a miracle, old man. Just a mess wrapped in a lab coat.”

Xeno gave a low chuckle, his voice almost fond. “You always were annoyingly good at seeing the truth in things.”

“And you always pretended not to like it,” Senku shot back, grinning.

They shared a look, then—a proud glance between colleagues who had been to hell and back in the name of science. Who’d made something brilliant. And terrifying. And had finally found the strength to bury it.

“Senku,” Xeno said after a pause, voice lower now. “Do you think it’s really over?”

Senku tilted his head, eyes flicking toward the quiet sky outside the window.

“…Not yet. But we’re close.”

Then he grinned again—wide, full of fire. “And if someone’s out there trying to finish the job, I say we beat ’em to it. One last race to the finish line.”

Xeno didn’t respond to Senku’s challenge right away. His eyes had drifted, gaze fixed somewhere far beyond the window—his posture just slightly off. Senku caught it instantly.

That brief stillness. That flicker of something tightening behind the eyes.

Senku’s smile faded, replaced by the keen scrutiny of someone who’d spent his life reading data and people.

“…What?” he asked plainly, voice quieter now, but no less direct. “You just remembered something.”

Xeno blinked, the question snapping him out of it.

“I did,” he admitted, tone too neutral.

Senku leaned in slightly, sharp-eyed. “It was that object Ukyo spotted, wasn’t it? The one you tried not to react to.”

Xeno hesitated.

Senku didn’t give him room to wiggle. “Rectangular. Metallic. Looked like nothing. You stared like it hit you between the eyes. So what was it, Doc?”

Xeno exhaled slowly, the weight of it settling on his shoulders. He didn’t meet Senku’s eyes at first.

“A badge,” he said finally.

Senku’s brows lifted. “A badge?”

Xeno nodded once. “Military issue. Not standard. Custom crafted. Old-style steel casing with coded imprint along the edges.”

Senku’s expression sharpened with interest. “And how the hell would you know that, unless—”

“It was his,” Xeno said quietly, eyes locking with Senku’s now.
Senku’s words stalled.

Xeno’s voice didn’t waver, but there was something fragile beneath the surface—like the memory was still too warm, still too close.

“Stanley Snyder. He used to wear it in the field. Said it was the only thing he trusted more than his rifle. It wasn’t registered—no traceable ID. Just numbers. Coordinates. And a line of Latin he etched himself.”

Senku stared for a moment, then slowly leaned back, arms folded.

“So it was his.”

“Yes.”

“And you didn’t say anything because…?”

Xeno’s jaw twitched. For a second, it looked like he might shut down the conversation—but then he answered, honestly.

“Because I wasn’t sure it was real,” he said. “Because if I said it out loud, it would make it true. That he’s out there. Watching. Erasing what we built.”

Senku let the silence stretch. Then, almost matter-of-factly:

“You still care about him.”

Xeno didn’t flinch.

“I did more than care,” he said simply. “He was mine. Long before all this.” A pause. “And I failed him. I let him walk into a war thinking I’d be behind him the whole way. But I wasn’t. I stayed in the lab. He didn’t.”

Senku exhaled, softly. “So now he’s out there torching every trace of the project. And you’re wondering if it’s revenge, or…”

“…or if he’s protecting me,” Xeno finished, voice barely above a whisper.

They were quiet again.

Senku didn’t give a pep talk. Didn’t offer sympathy. Just nodded once, gaze level.

“Then we find him,” he said. “And we ask.”

Xeno blinked. “You think he’ll answer?”

“I think if he left that badge in a spot we’d notice,” Senku said, “then it wasn’t just a calling card. It was an invitation.”

Something flickered behind Xeno’s eyes—hope, maybe, or dread. He didn’t say which.

Senku smirked. “And between you and me, Doc? I always liked a good reunion arc.”

Xeno gave a quiet, almost imperceptible laugh.

“It would be… complicated.”

“Name one scientific breakthrough that wasn’t.”

Their eyes met again. No mockery. Just understanding.

And for the first time since seeing the badge, Xeno’s shoulders relaxed ever so slightly.

---

Later that night, the room was still.

Too still.

Outside the compound walls, the celebration had long since mellowed into a gentle hum—muffled voices, the occasional burst of laughter, the clinking of glass against glass. But inside Xeno’s quarters, there was only silence.

He lay on his back, half-draped across the bed, the dim light from a single wall sconce casting long shadows over the dark contours of the room. One hand rested loosely over his chest, fingers curled in the fabric of his shirt. His coat was folded over the nearby chair. His boots sat neatly at the edge of the bed. But his mind—

His mind was chaos.

Stanley’s badge.

He hadn’t seen it in years, and yet the moment he recognized the gleam of steel, the old weight in his chest returned like it had never left. That badge had been a constant—hooked to Stanley’s gear, hanging off his vest, sometimes tossed carelessly on a table between missions. Always there. Always his.

And now it had resurfaced, carried on a whisper of smoke and shattered data feeds, like a ghost kicking up dust in the ruins of their shared past.

Xeno exhaled shakily, eyes half-lidded as he stared at the ceiling.

Was he coming for me?

The question clung to the air, unanswered. Stanley had vanished after the collapse. No messages. No trace. No body. Xeno had buried the hope long ago, shoved it into a dark corner of his chest where nothing could touch it.

And now, here it was. Stirring. Awake.

Is he looking for me… to save me? Or to stop me?

Xeno didn’t know. The Stanley he loved had been loyal—to the mission, to him, to the code they carved into the skin of the world. But the man that might exist now—if he’d seen what Project Miracle became, if he’d turned against it—then maybe… maybe he hated what Xeno represented. Maybe this was retribution.

Or maybe, Xeno thought, his hand tightening slightly on his chest, maybe he’s burning it all down because he’s clearing a path. Back to me.

The thought made something stir in him. Something wild. Something ancient.

Longing.

He could still picture Stanley—stoic, sharp-eyed, hands steady even in fire. The way he moved through chaos like it was a dance, like the world was just noise until Xeno spoke. And God, how Xeno missed the way Stanley looked at him like he was the only thing that mattered.

He’d give anything to see that look again.

Even if Stanley had a gun pointed at his chest. Even if this was the end of the line.

He’d still walk to him.

Still choose him.

Xeno turned to his side, eyes fluttering closed, a quiet, bittersweet smile touching his lips.

“If you want me,” he whispered to the dark, “you already know where I am.”

And he meant it.

If Stanley Snyder wanted him—whether to rescue, reprimand, or ruin—Xeno would go willingly.

Hell, he’d turn himself in. Surrender the whole world.

As long as it meant one thing:

Being by Stanley’s side again.

His man.

His soldier.

His fire.

---

Meanwhile, on the other side, the room was dark, save for the soft glow of the moonlight spilling through the window, casting pale streaks across tangled sheets and the bare curve of skin.

Senku lay with his head on Tsukasa’s chest, one arm draped lazily over the taller man’s torso, his fingers idly tracing the faint lines of old scars. The steady rhythm of Tsukasa’s heartbeat was a quiet, grounding metronome beneath his ear, and the warmth of their bodies pressed together felt like the one thing in the world not demanding answers or action.

Just peace.

Tsukasa’s arm was wrapped loosely around Senku’s shoulders, his fingertips trailing gentle patterns along the sharp edge of a scientist’s spine. It was a rare kind of stillness—no emergencies, no missions, no fires to put out. Just them.

Senku’s voice broke the silence first, low and amused.

“…Y’know,” he murmured, “I did say I’d come back with a prize.”

Tsukasa huffed a quiet breath, equal parts amused and indulgent. “Oh?” he said, eyes still closed, tone like velvet. “This wasn’t it?”

Senku smirked against his chest. “Please. You’re the one that got me. I’d call that the real win.”

That earned him a low chuckle, the kind that rumbled through Tsukasa’s chest and vibrated right into Senku’s bones.

“I suppose I should be honored,” Tsukasa said, voice playful, his hand curling around Senku’s shoulder possessively. “You walking away from Xeno mid-rant to come crawl back into my bed? That’s Nobel Prize material.”

Senku rolled his eyes, smiling. “It wasn’t a rant, it was… science flirting.”

Tsukasa cracked one eye open, raising a brow. “Is that what we’re calling it now?”

“What, jealous?” Senku asked, tilting his head up slightly, lips quirking. “You should be. He’s got that whole tortured genius thing going on. Very classic.”

Tsukasa leaned in, pressing a slow, deliberate kiss to the crown of Senku’s hair before murmuring, “He doesn’t get to touch you like this.”

Senku froze for half a second—just long enough for Tsukasa to feel the way his breath hitched—before he let out a cocky, contented hum and settled deeper into his lover’s arms.

“…No,” he said quietly. “No, he doesn’t.”

For a while, they stayed like that—entwined, silent, unhurried. The chaos could wait. The world could burn. Right now, they had each other.

And in the soft quiet of the night, that was more than enough.

Senku shifted slightly against Tsukasa’s chest, propping his chin just enough to see his lover’s face in the low light. His fingers idly tapped along Tsukasa’s skin as if drumming up the courage—or amusement—to say what was on his mind.

“Xeno told me something earlier,” he began casually. “When we were talking about the labs.”

Tsukasa hummed in acknowledgment, his hand gliding lazily up and down Senku’s back.

Senku leaned in closer, voice low with that smug edge he couldn’t help but adopt when dangling a secret.

“He recognized something from the wreckage. Said it was a military badge. Rectangular. Custom-forged. Said it belonged to someone important to him.”

That got Tsukasa’s attention. He shifted slightly beneath Senku, one eye cracking open.

“Oh?” he said, intrigued. “And who’s this mystery person? You sound like you’re telling me gossip, Senku.”

Senku grinned. “Maybe I am.”

Then, in the same breath, he dropped the name like a stone into still water:

“Stanley Snyder.”

Tsukasa stilled. Not in panic—but with sharp, thoughtful pause.

“…Snyder, huh?”

Senku blinked, raising a brow at the shift in Tsukasa’s tone. “Yeah. What about it?”

Tsukasa’s expression darkened slightly, though not out of fear—more like recognition. Strategy.

“Stanley Snyder was a special forces soldier,” he said, his voice lower now. “Not just any soldier. He led an elite black-ops division. Ghosts. Off-record missions. The kind of guy who could burn down a city and leave no fingerprints.”

Senku’s brow arched. “That’s oddly specific.”

Tsukasa nodded, gaze flickering toward the ceiling in thought. “He retired three years ago. Disappeared, according to military records.”

“And?”

“And then reappeared at the head of the Snyder family. A dark horse mafia group that showed up out of nowhere. Took out three old families in less than a year. They don’t deal in drugs. They deal in intel, firepower, influence. Tactical movements. Very… military-style operations.”

Senku’s eyes widened slightly, his amusement sobering. “You’re saying Xeno’s mystery man—the one who might be hunting us or saving him—is running a rival mafia family?”

“That’s exactly what I’m saying,” Tsukasa said, his voice calm, but his grip around Senku tightened slightly. “And from the sound of it… Xeno might not know.”

Senku let out a quiet exhale, eyes flicking to the side, replaying the conversation in his head. The badge. Xeno’s face. The flicker of hope he tried to hide.

“...He still loves him,” Senku muttered.

Tsukasa didn’t reply right away.

Then—

“If this Stanley Snyder really is the one behind those base attacks,” Tsukasa said, “then he’s not just making moves in the dark. He’s clearing the board.”

Senku rested his cheek back against Tsukasa’s chest, but his fingers didn’t stop tracing idle circles against the warm skin beneath them. His voice dropped lower, thoughtful now. Maybe even a little gentle.

“…He wants to see him again.”

Tsukasa glanced down, eyes narrowing slightly. “Xeno?”

Senku nodded. “Yeah. He didn’t say it outright, but he didn’t have to. The way he looked at that badge… like it was the last piece of something that used to make him feel whole.”

He paused, exhaling softly.

“I sort of told him we’d make sure they got reunited.”

Tsukasa blinked, a brow slowly raising. “You… promised him that?”

Senku tilted his head up again, cocking a sly grin. “What? You think I’d let a guy pine forever just because his man decided to ghost and go full Mafia Boss?”

Tsukasa gave him a long, unreadable look. “And now you want me to make arrangements.”

“Yup,” Senku replied, popping the ‘p’ like it was the most casual request in the world.

Tsukasa exhaled a small laugh through his nose, half-bemused, half-incredulous. “What kind of arrangements?”

Senku’s grin widened.

“The ‘give us your properties or we throw hands’ kind.”

Tsukasa huffed, rubbing his temple with one hand while keeping the other firm around Senku. “Of course. You skip diplomacy and go straight to extortion.”

Senku shrugged against him, smirking into his chest. “Hey, in our world, that is diplomacy.”

Tsukasa was silent for a moment, weighing it—strategizing in real-time the way only he could.

“And if Stanley doesn’t want to talk?”

Senku’s voice lost some of its flippancy, though the smirk lingered. “Then I guess he’ll find out how good your right hook still is.”

Tsukasa gave a quiet chuckle, tilting his head so his lips brushed the crown of Senku’s hair.

“You’re a menace,” he said.

“And you love me for it,” Senku shot back.

There was a pause—and then Tsukasa murmured against his skin, voice low, certain.

“Yeah. I do.”

The smirk softened into a real smile, and for a moment, the storm outside their walls felt far away.

But it wouldn’t stay that way forever. Not with Stanley Snyder rising from the shadows.

Not with promises hanging in the balance.

Tsukasa’s hand stilled against Senku’s back, and the warmth in his chest seemed to tighten just slightly. His expression shifted—no longer amused, but composed. Serious, in that way only Tsukasa could be—steady, grounded, powerful. But not cold.

He looked down at Senku, eyes calm but laced with gravity.

“I can do it,” he said quietly. “For you.”

Senku’s brow arched, sensing the weight behind those words. “Yeah?”

Tsukasa nodded once, slowly. Then, with a tone that was low and unreadable, he added, “But I need you to do something for me, too.”

“Oh? Is this where I find out you want my kidneys or something?”

That earned a short, warm laugh from the man beneath him—deep and genuine, rumbling from his chest like a summer storm. His grip on Senku’s waist tightened briefly, affectionate.

“I already have your heart,” Tsukasa murmured against Senku’s temple, “what would I need kidneys for?”

Senku scoffed, but the faint color rising in his cheeks betrayed him.

But just as quickly as the laughter came, it faded.

Tsukasa’s expression shifted again—settling into something quieter. Still warm, still close, but heavier now. His voice dropped, eyes locking with Senku’s in the low glow of the room.

“I can do it,” he repeated, firmer this time. “I’ll make the arrangements. For you.”

Senku’s brows raised slightly, the air between them thickening.

“But I need you to do something for me,” Tsukasa added, his tone dipping into something lower—serious, unshaken, and unreadable.

That got Senku’s attention. Fully.

He tilted his head, amusement lingering, but now laced with interest. “What kind of favor?”

Tsukasa didn’t answer right away.

Instead, he leaned in slowly, lips brushing just behind Senku’s ear. His hand remained steady against Senku’s back, grounding him—and then, in a whisper softer than breath, he spoke.

Senku froze.

Eyes half-lidded, brain processing in real time.

And for once, he didn’t have a comeback.

Not immediately.

After a pause, Senku leaned back just enough to meet Tsukasa’s gaze. His voice was quiet—somewhere between a challenge and an oath.

“You’re serious.”

Tsukasa only nodded.

Senku’s eyes flicked downward, to Tsukasa’s lips, then back to his eyes. The scientist let out a low exhale, smile returning slowly—cocky, confident, but with something else glinting just behind it.

“…Alright, King. You’ve got yourself a deal.”

---

The lab buzzed with soft chatter and low beeping machines. Chrome stood at the center console, fiddling with a glass beaker filled with pale blue solution while Xeno sat nearby, hunched over notes and scrawled equations, peaceful for once. His brow was relaxed, his fingers smudged with ink—focused but content.

For once… it felt quiet.

Xeno turned to Chrome, pointing at a specific chart. “If we increase the catalysis window, we might get better reaction control during—”

“Yo, Doc.”

Senku’s voice cut through the lab air like a scalpel. Calm, but with an edge.

Xeno turned, puzzled. “Senku? What is—?”

Before he could finish, Senku grabbed him firmly by the arm.

“What—?!”

“Sorry to do this, old man,” Senku said with that maddeningly casual grin. “But you’re coming with me.”

“What?! Where?! I’m in the middle of—Senku, unhand me!”

Xeno flailed slightly, trying to hold onto his notes as Senku dragged him out the lab’s side door. His feet skidded and his coat billowed behind him like a kidnapped professor in a science fiction parody.

“CHROME!” Xeno cried. “DO SOMETHING!”

Chrome blinked, nearly dropping his beaker. “W-Wha—?! Uh—Senku?! Where are you taking him?!”

“SCIENCE STUFF!” Senku shouted back over his shoulder. “CLASSIFIED!”

Chrome stood there frozen, flapping his hands in the air uselessly. “Do I chase them?! Do I call Tsukasa?! DO I FINISH THE REACTION?!”

Meanwhile, Xeno’s voice could still be heard from down the hall—

“SENKU, YOU ABSOLUTE CHILD—!”

SLAM.

The lab door shut behind them, leaving Chrome standing awkwardly between a half-boiled beaker and an empty rolling chair.

“…What the hell just happened?” he muttered.

Chapter Text

The room was dimly lit, the warm glow of hanging chandeliers glinting off polished marble and gilded furnishings. It was mostly empty—quiet, cavernous—but impossibly lavish, like the kind of luxury reserved for kings who liked the silence of power more than the noise of company.

A long, glossy table stretched down the center, untouched dinnerware still gleaming under the light. At one end sat him.

Stanley Snyder.

Broad-shouldered, relaxed, cigarette pinched lazily between his fingers, ash balanced precariously on the edge. His dirty blonde falling loose across his forehead like time hadn’t dared to change him. His calm, sharp gaze flicked around the room as if he already knew every blind spot and weakness without having to look.

On the other side, seated parallel to him at the far end of the table, was Senku Ishigami.

Or more accurately—Senku, curled smugly on Tsukasa’s lap like he owned the room.

Tsukasa sat back in his chair, one arm slung casually around Senku’s waist, the other resting atop the table with slow, deliberate ease. The air between the three men was tense—not hostile, just charged. Like a thunderstorm waiting to choose whether it wanted to break the sky or just flash for fun.

Senku’s fingers played absentmindedly with a fork, but his mind was far from distracted.

‘He actually made it happen,’ Senku thought, his eyes sliding from Stanley’s military-cut coat to the familiar badge clipped to the inside pocket. ‘Tsukasa freaking Shishio made it happen.’

There was a quiet thrill in the pit of his chest, a pulse of adrenaline masked beneath his smirk. This was real. This was Stanley Snyder—Xeno’s ghost, his monster, his goddamn lover—and he was sitting right there.

A mafia powerhouse. A former special forces legend. Holding a cigarette like he was born with one in hand.

Senku had to fight the laugh bubbling in his throat, not out of mockery—but exhilaration. This wasn’t just intel or speculation. This wasn’t something stolen from an enemy server. This was the man himself.

And he was here.

And Tsukasa made it happen.

Senku leaned in slightly against Tsukasa’s chest, glancing up and back just enough to catch his lover’s satisfied expression.

Across the table, Stanley exhaled a slow trail of smoke, eyeing the two of them with quiet interest. No fear. No tension.

Just patience.

And maybe, just maybe—expectation.

The silence stretched—taut, heavy with meaning—until Stanley tilted his head slightly and spoke, voice smooth as smoke:

"So… what does the underworld king want with me?"

He flicked the ash from his cigarette with practiced ease.

"After all, I only got a rather vague invitation."

Senku blinked. His fingers paused mid-spin on the fork.

"Invitation?" he echoed, eyebrows raised as he glanced up at Tsukasa, who remained still, unreadable behind his calm exterior.

Stanley’s lips curled, slow and sharp.

He leaned forward slightly, hand reaching inside the lining of his jacket.

"Oh? You don’t know?" he said, voice dipping low with amusement.

"Your king over here sent me quite the message."

From his coat, he pulled out a folded square of black velvet cloth, the edges stained in something dark and crusted.

He flipped it open on the table with a casual flick—revealing a severed finger, pristine except for the branded symbol carved into the nail. A silver ring still clung to the discolored knuckle, engraved with the crest of a rival cartel Stanley once hunted and vanished years ago.

Senku recoiled slightly—not from fear, but sheer surprise.

Stanley chuckled at the expression.

"Wrapped neatly. Delivered in a box of cigars." He tapped the table beside the grisly token.

"No note. No name. Just the ring. And the blood."

Tsukasa’s voice was calm when he finally spoke.

"I figured you'd understand the language better than words."

Stanley gave a quiet, impressed whistle, dragging the cigarette to his lips.

"Oh, I did." He exhaled smoke toward the chandelier.

"I just didn’t expect it to be a summons. Thought it was more of a 'nice seeing you, here’s a trophy' kind of gift."

Senku leaned back in Tsukasa’s lap, frowning slightly.

“You sent a finger?”

“It got his attention, didn’t it?” Tsukasa said, not bothering to hide the faint smirk on his lips.

Stanley let out a dry laugh.

"You’re lucky I enjoy theatrics." He flicked ash again, eyes narrowing now with something more serious beneath the amusement.

"So what now?" he drawled, fingers still resting near the velvet-clad token on the table.

"You gonna tell me what kind of party this is, or am I supposed to guess what role you need the monster to play?"

The tension returned—but it wasn’t dramatic this time. It was focused, like the air had been thinned out to make space only for what mattered.

Senku sat up straighter in Tsukasa’s lap, spine taut, fork finally abandoned beside the untouched plate.

The usual cocky lilt in his voice was muted—still smug, still sharp, but underscored now with clarity.

Purpose.

"No guessing required," he said simply.

His red eyes caught the golden light of the chandeliers, a glint of fire against shadow.

"This isn't about theatrics. This isn't about conquest. And it’s sure as hell not about some empire-building dick-measuring contest."

Stanley chuckled under his breath, but said nothing. Tsukasa didn’t move—he only watched, unreadable, calm in the way oceans are before they drown you.

Senku leaned forward, fingers laced loosely before him on the polished table.

"This is about cutting out a rot so deep that it pretends to be the cure. About destroying something that has already rewritten the future in its own image and is now manufacturing the minds to sustain it."

He let that hang.

"Project Miracle isn’t a project. It’s a belief system. A covert ideology passed through institutions, governments, syndicates—even the science world. It’s in every untouched black-site database and every missing-persons report that never gets filed. It’s stitched into the fucking genome of power structures. And the only way to kill it—truly kill it—is to rip the ideology out by the root. Not the labs. Not the researchers.

The people who breathe life into it. The architects. The financiers. The old money. The new kings of biotech who stay clean by using people like us to do the dirty work."

Senku’s voice didn’t rise. It deepened. Got quieter.

More precise.

"This isn’t about revenge. Not anymore. It’s about prevention. We’ve seen what it becomes. We’ve seen how many people have to be thrown away to build a ‘perfect species.’ How many scientists have to be silenced. How many kids have to be… sculpted like products, labeled as assets."

He didn’t look at Tsukasa or Stanley now.

He stared down the table, as if the ghosts of those numbers were carved into the marble itself.

"You burned down the labs, Snyder."

His eyes flicked back to Stanley’s face.

"I know. I saw it myself. The charred servers, the cleared databases. You left no trace."

Stanley tapped his cigarette against the crystal tray, not confirming, not denying.

Senku continued.

"But that was just their smoke. Their camouflage. The roots go deeper. And I know you’ve seen it too. I know your people found things—fragments, names, shipments that didn’t make sense. You didn’t know what it was called back then, but you were hunting the same disease we are."

Stanley’s lips parted slightly at that, just the barest twitch of surprise.

"And now we’re inviting you," Senku added, a wry smile tugging at his mouth, "to finish the job. No labs. No breadcrumbs. Just the ones pulling the strings."

A long silence followed.

Then Senku leaned back again against Tsukasa’s chest, casual once more—like he hadn’t just dropped a philosophical gauntlet across the table.

"That’s what the underworld king wants with you," he said, eyes gleaming.

Tsukasa finally stirred, a slow hand brushing through Senku’s hair as if grounding him.

Stanley’s expression had shifted. Less amused. More calculating now.

Less predator. More soldier.

"Huh," he muttered, taking another drag.

"You always this dramatic when asking for favors?"

Senku gave him a flash of teeth.

"Only when the favor involves burning an ideology off the face of the Earth."

A beat of silence lingered.

Then Stanley chuckled. Low and short, like he couldn’t quite help it.

The sound echoed lightly off the marble and gold, amused in a way that wasn’t dismissive—but certainly not reverent either.

He took one final drag from his cigarette before snuffing it out in the crystal ashtray with slow precision.

"Hell of a speech," he said, leaning back in his chair.

His fingers laced loosely behind his head, posture relaxed—but his eyes sharp as ever.

"You rehearse that, or does all that righteous fire just roll off the tongue naturally?"

Senku didn’t answer—just arched a brow, unimpressed.

Stanley gave a crooked smirk.

"Look, kid, I get it. You're not here to moralize—you want action. You want blood. And honestly?"

He glanced briefly at the severed finger still resting in its velvet bed like some gruesome centerpiece.

"You know how to send an invitation. That counts for something."

He paused, then tilted his head.

"But if we’re putting cards on the table…"

He leaned forward again, elbows on the edge of the table, gaze cutting cleanly through the air between them.

"What’s in it for me?"

He let the question land with the weight of a loaded gun.

Not aggressive. Not threatening.

Just real.

"You’re asking me to go after the heads of a global operation. Deep old-money syndicates. Weapons. Biotech. Maybe even the governments that keep those freaks funded."

His tone stayed casual, but there was steel beneath it.

"So, what’s the payout, scientist? What does Stanley Snyder get for lighting the match this time? A cause?" He scoffed.

"Or maybe just another burn notice?"

Senku’s smirk returned, slow and deliberate.

But he didn’t answer right away.

He let the question settle, glancing up at Tsukasa behind him—then back to Stanley, his eyes gleaming like he already had the exact answer.

Like he’d been waiting for that question all along.

Senku didn’t speak right away.

He just tilted his head, letting Stanley’s question hang in the charged air between them.

Then, slowly, he reached forward and nudged the silver fork he’d abandoned earlier, idly spinning it with his fingertip—like he was pulling thoughts from the spiral of metal.

"You want to know what’s in it for you?" he said quietly, voice losing its edge but not its conviction.

"It’s not money. It’s not a body count. It’s not even reputation. Not really."

He leaned forward again, resting his arms on the table now, shoulders loose.

"It’s a man."

Tsukasa's eyes flicked toward him briefly, but he didn’t interfere. He knew better. Knew where this was going.

Senku’s fingers tapped once against the tabletop before curling into a thoughtful fist.

"He was brilliant."

A faint smile pulled at Senku’s lips—not smug this time. Fond.

"Elegant in the way only someone raised on precision and pressure could be. He wasn’t the kind of genius that shouted. He whispered. He made you feel like the universe was bending closer just to hear what he had to say."

Stanley’s brow twitched.

But he stayed silent.

"He had this way of moving, too," Senku continued, staring past Stanley now—like he was seeing a memory instead of a man.

"Every step calculated, like a chess piece in motion. Never hurried. Never without intention. Even the way he held a pen was obnoxiously refined."

He gave a breath of laughter through his nose. "I used to joke that he had a romantic affair with his stationery. He had this old-school fountain pen with gold trim he always cleaned with a cloth no one else was allowed to touch."

Stanley blinked. His posture stiffened just slightly. His eyes narrowed—subtle.

But Senku kept going.

"He couldn’t cook to save his life, but he’d make you sit through a four-hour wine pairing lecture if you let him. Once spent three months perfecting a soufflé just to prove to himself he could. Nearly burned down the lab in the process."

A quiet laugh slipped from Tsukasa, soft and low, but he said nothing.

Senku didn’t notice. Or maybe he did—but he was too far in now.

"He hated synthetic fabrics. Would complain about lab coats not being made of proper Egyptian cotton. Used to tailor his own just so they’d 'move better during critical analysis.'"

His voice dipped into an impression that was almost mockery—but still laced with affection.

"He called powdered gloves ‘a crime against science.’ And don’t get me started on how many times he tried to replace the office thermostat just so he could keep it at exactly 21.7 degrees Celsius."

Stanley’s fingers curled around the edge of the table.

His jaw tightened ever so slightly. A vein ticked in his temple. His eyes—sharp now—followed every syllable.

Still, he said nothing.

"He taught me a lot," Senku murmured, the fork stilling under his hand.

"Not just equations or schematics. But how to think around corners. How to navigate enemies who didn’t wear lab coats. How to play polite with monsters in high places."

He paused—then looked directly at Stanley.

"He was the kind of man who made you want to win, just to see him smirk. And when he approved of something you built?"

Senku exhaled softly, red eyes flickering.

"You felt like you'd just rewritten gravity."

Stanley’s shoulders tensed. His eyes weren’t just wide now—they were full of restrained energy. Heat barely caged behind a military calm.

Senku let the silence simmer for a beat.

Then he leaned back in his seat—not away from the table, but into Tsukasa’s chest again, arms folding loosely in front of him, like a lion curling into its throne after a successful hunt.

His tone dropped to a near whisper.

Not for dramatics—for impact.

"You know the worst part?"

He tilted his head just slightly, letting the words bleed from the corner of his lips like an afterthought.

"He didn’t even believe anyone would come for him. Not anymore."

That was the hit.

Stanley flinched like he’d been shot.

His breath hitched. His throat bobbed with a swallow that looked more like he was choking it down.

And then—

“Enough!”

The word erupted from him like a detonation, sharp and panicked, cutting through the room like gunfire.

His chair screeched back an inch as he half-rose, fists clenched against the glossy wood of the table.

His eyes—normally unreadable, glacial—were wild now.

“Where is he?!”

Not asked.

Demanded.

The force behind it wasn’t just vocal—it was physical.

Stanley surged to his feet, the chair scraping violently against the marble floor.

Both palms slammed down on the table.

A sharp, echoing crack ricocheted through the grand room, silverware rattling, the sound as violent as the tremor in his voice.

His arms braced him there, fists clenched, shoulders heaving under the weight of barely-contained panic. His eyes—ice-cold and always calculating—now burned with something dangerously close to pleading.

His voice cracked slightly at the edges, war between command and desperation, as if he hadn’t spoken that name aloud in years and didn’t dare try now.

Senku didn’t flinch.

Didn’t gloat.

But he did smirk.

Not the sharp, mocking kind he threw at strangers.

This one was slower. Cool. Measured. Earned.

A smirk born from victory that had been planned twelve steps ahead.

He shifted lazily in Tsukasa’s lap again, trailing a fingertip up his lover’s chest as if to steady himself—and draw this out just a little longer.

"Hold your horses, cowboy," Senku purred, voice low and pleased.

His red eyes glittered as they locked with Stanley’s blown-wide ones.

"I said we’d talk terms first."

Stanley’s chest was still rising, still tense with adrenaline that hadn’t been tapped in years. His knuckles were white against the polished table, veins visible, rage trembling just beneath his skin.

But then—he breathed.

Just once.

A slow, deliberate inhale through his nose.

He knew better.

You didn’t rush a man like Senku Ishigami. Not when he was holding all the pieces.

And Tsukasa? The King of the Underworld hadn’t moved a muscle. That alone told Stanley everything he needed to know. This wasn’t a negotiation he could storm through.

So instead of slamming his fists or demanding again, Stanley leaned back slowly, jaw tight, nostrils flared—but eyes narrowing with control.

He chuckled once.

Humorless. Low. Gritted between his teeth.

“…You really are a little bastard.”

Senku just smiled wider against Tsukasa’s chest, fingers tapping in amusement.

"Glad we’re on the same page."

Stanley raked a hand through his hair, forcing himself to sit again.

“…Talk your damn terms.”

His voice was raw now—not angry. Not desperate.

Focused.

Senku reached for the folder resting beside Tsukasa’s wine glass. He flipped it open briefly—more for effect than necessity—then closed it with a crisp snap and slid it down the polished table toward Stanley.

It stopped just shy of his scarred knuckles.

A slim, unassuming folder. No logo. No threat. Just opportunity—and answers—sealed in silence.

Stanley stared at it for a moment. Then gave a dry, humorless chuckle—low in his chest, like it tasted strange coming out.

"What is this? A contract?"

His voice held that familiar smugness, worn like armor. But the tightness behind it gave him away.

He didn’t even reach for the folder. Not yet.

"Do I sign in blood, or do you prefer black ink and emotional blackmail?"

Senku gave a light hum, propping his elbow on the table, his chin resting in one hand.

"Oh, please. You’ve signed worse for less."

Tsukasa didn’t laugh—but his eyes glinted with approval.

Stanley’s smirk twitched. Faint. Uneasy.

Stanley took the folder with one hand, eyes never leaving Senku’s annoyingly pleased face. The weight of the paper felt heavier than it should’ve—like every page had been dipped in gasoline and arrogance.

He flipped it open.

1. By signing, the Snyder family pledges exclusive operational support to the Shishio syndicate.

A scoff broke from his chest. “Yeah, of course you want the whole damn family name on a leash.”

He flipped to the next page.

2. All Miracle Project data acquired by the Snyder family—past or present—must be turned over in full, unedited.

Another snort. “You do realize some of that data is worth more than half the underworld combined?”

Senku didn’t blink. Tsukasa didn’t move.

Stanley turned to the final term.

And then he went still.

3. Snyder militia, weapon reserves, and safehouses are to be surrendered to the Shishio Empire for the duration of the Miracle War.

He stared at the words.

Surrendered.

Not shared.

Not lent.

Surrendered.

A bitter laugh cracked the silence. He shut the folder with a quiet snap, eyes lifting—first to Tsukasa, who met his gaze with stoic certainty.

Then to Senku.

The smug little bastard.

Smiling like the devil who already had his soul in escrow.

“You cocky bastards,” Stanley muttered, exhaling as he slumped back in his chair. The words were aimed at both—but his eyes never left Senku. “You don’t just want my help.”

Senku’s smile deepened, eyes gleaming. “We want your empire.”

“And,” Tsukasa added, voice calm but ironclad, “you’re going to give it to us.”

Stanley looked between them. The scientist and the king.

He had every reason to walk.

But all he could think about was a man with gold-trimmed pens, and eyes that used to soften only for him.

“…Fucking hell,” he muttered.

And reached for the pen.

Stanley stared down at the contract for a long beat.

Then, with a sigh heavy enough to echo through the marble bones of the room, he picked up the pen.

He signed his name.

Not with pride.

Not with defeat.

But with the inevitability of a man who had just traded everything for a single chance.

He let the pen fall to the table with a dull clatter.

Without a word, he reached into his coat, drew out another cigar, and bit off the end. The flame from his lighter flickered against the tension still bleeding through his jaw.

Smoke curled upward as he took a slow, steady drag—holding it in his lungs before releasing it like the last breath of a war.

The room fell quiet again.

Not tense this time.

Just… waiting.

Then, finally, Stanley leaned back in his chair. The silhouette of a soldier returned to his rightful place in the storm. His voice, when it came, was no longer cracked, no longer sharp.

It was cool. Steady. Controlled.

Like a man who had walked through fire and found what he was looking for on the other side.

“So,” he said, the smoke rolling out around the word,

“Where is he?”

Senku didn’t answer right away.

His smirk twitched.

Then bloomed into a full grin—mischief painted over triumph.

The kind of grin that said:

Checkmate.

Tsukasa let out a low breath, like even he could feel the tectonic shift in the room.

Senku sat up, finally peeling himself off Tsukasa’s chest, and reached under the table to retrieve a smaller folder—worn around the edges. One with no terms. No signatures.

Just a photograph.

He slid it toward Stanley without a word.

Stanley looked down at the folder like it had betrayed him.

Inside, a single photo.

High resolution. Clean lighting. It showed Xeno in a sterile-looking room—alive, clearly—but staring directly at the camera with a flat, clinical detachment. Dressed plainly. Not a bruise in sight. But no context. No timestamp. Just a fact: he existed.

Stanley’s brow twitched. Then rose.

He scoffed.

“This is it?” he said, eyes narrowing as he leaned back, smoke curling from the corner of his lips.

“All that build-up, that dramatic little sales pitch… and I get a mugshot? You sure know how to treat a guy, Einstein.”

He tossed the photo lightly back onto the table, the corner fluttering like a losing card in a bad hand.

Senku’s grin somehow stretched wider.

Tsukasa—ever the silent anchor—glanced his way. Their eyes met.

And Tsukasa gave a single, quiet nod. The kind that wasn’t for the room. Just for him.

That was all Senku needed.

He snapped his fingers.

The echo cut clean through the heavy stillness.

On cue, the grand double doors at the far end of the room creaked open—and in came chaos.

“You absolute child!”

The voice hit first—crisp, imperious, and furious.

Yuzuriha and Gen flanked him, each holding one of Xeno’s arms—not roughly, but firmly, like he’d tried to bite someone five seconds ago and might try again in six.

Xeno Houston Wingfield looked… stunning.

His platinum hair was combed and styled to perfection, the once-wild strands now sculpted into smooth, swept-back elegance. Dark smokey shadow framed his piercing eyes, lips lightly glossed, skin touched with the faintest trace of blush. His tailored coat flared with dramatic precision—half scientist, half royalty.

He was flushed with rage. Practically vibrating.

And still, utterly gorgeous.

“Do you even understand what kind of violation this is?” Xeno snapped, glaring directly at Senku as Yuzuriha struggled not to giggle. “You and your barbaric co-conspirators got makeup in my hairline, you little goblin.”

Gen leaned in with a singsong voice, “To be fair, you look fantastic~”

“Shut up, Asagiri!”

Xeno’s tirade continued, voice rising with every syllable, all of it aimed squarely at Senku.

“You had me drugged—lightly sedated, I can tell!—and dressed, like some glossy magazine ad for underpaid grad students. You think this is amusing? You think this is a joke?! I swear, I will—”

He never finished.

Because across the room, Stanley Snyder wasn’t moving.

He wasn’t breathing either—not really.

He just… stared.

Tears streamed freely down his face, catching in the stubble of his jaw, smudging nothing. Silent. Raw.

He hadn’t even registered the photo being dropped. He didn’t care. The moment Xeno entered, everything else ceased to matter.

Even now, Xeno hadn’t noticed him.

Too busy yelling.

Too busy being alive.

Stanley blinked once—just once—like his body had remembered how to function.

But his face didn’t change.

Didn’t need to.

His expression was a man seeing sunlight after years of rain.

And Senku?

Senku leaned back into Tsukasa’s chest again, folding his arms smugly behind his head like he’d just played the final piece in a ten-move checkmate.

Still, Xeno raged on.

“I’ll have you know this coat is tailored and dry-clean only—do you know how long it took to get my hair this length without breakage, and you—”

He paused.

Eyes narrowing.

That damned smirk. That glint in Senku’s eye.

Too calm. Too satisfied.

Senku wasn't listening.

He was watching.

Watching something else.

Xeno followed his gaze.

And then he saw him.

Stanley.

Not the usual, composed soldier he knew—no. This Stanley looked wrecked. Tears still streaming, mouth parted, chest visibly rising with the weight of every inhale like it hurt to breathe.

And he was already standing.

Waiting.

Open arms.

Xeno's mouth parted.

The sound he made wasn’t a word—it was something half-swallowed, broken at the edges. A breath. A realization.

And then, as if the world rearranged itself in silent agreement, Yuzuriha and Gen let go.

No words. No warnings.

They just released him.

Xeno bolted.

Elegant rage forgotten.

Every step devouring distance until he crashed into Stanley’s chest with the force of a man who’d been running in the dark for months—only to finally find home.

Stanley’s arms snapped around him, the kind of hug that wasn’t gentle or slow. It was fierce. Desperate. Raw.

Xeno clutched at his back, fists curling into the fabric of his coat like if he let go, this would all disappear. His whole body shook.

Tears slid down his face—silent at first, then with an audible gasp like he'd forgotten how to breathe on his own.

Stanley buried his face in that perfectly styled hair and held him. Held him like the world could fall apart and they’d still be standing.

No one said a word.

Not Gen.

Not Yuzuriha.

Not even Senku, who now watched with something between satisfaction and faint, unspoken awe.

And Tsukasa, who rested a hand lightly over Senku’s crossed arms, squeezed just once.

Like saying: ‘You did good, little genius.'

But for Xeno and Stanley?

The rest of the room no longer existed.

There was only each other.

And the kind of silence that wasn't empty.

But sacred.

Chapter Text

The silence that followed was thick with something reverent.

No one dared to interrupt.

Stanley and Xeno remained locked together, unmoving—like two fragments of a whole finally fitted back in place. Xeno had all but climbed into his lap now, arms around Stanley’s shoulders, head buried against the curve of his neck. His perfectly tailored coat wrinkled. His hair mussed.

Neither of them cared.

Stanley sat in the very same chair he had occupied earlier—once tense, once guarded. Now, it served as an anchor, grounding the two of them as their breathing finally began to sync. One hitching sob at a time.

Senku stretched with a satisfied sigh, finally rising from Tsukasa’s lap with a theatrical roll of his shoulders. His smirk never left.

“Well,” he said, drawing out the word like a final chord to his symphony, “that’s one diplomatic crisis resolved with maximum emotional devastation and minimal casualties. I’d call that a win.”

Xeno didn’t lift his head. Just gave a garbled, muffled sound into Stanley’s coat that might’ve been, “I hate you.”

Senku chuckled.

Tsukasa finally stood as well, adjusting the cuff of his sleeve, and gave the room one last glance—particularly the two men entwined at its center.

“Alright,” he said gently, voice rich and calm, “I think that concludes the meeting.”

He nodded to Gen and Yuzuriha, who both smiled and silently made their way out—Yuzuriha wiping a small tear of her own, and Gen pretending not to be touched as he hummed quietly to himself.

Senku turned toward Xeno one last time, tilting his head with mischievous sparkle in his eye.

“By the way,” he said with mock sweetness, “you smudged your eyeliner crying. Kinda ruins the whole evil mastermind look.”

“Senku.”

Tsukasa’s voice was soft.

But that tone?

That was his stop antagonizing the traumatized prince tone.

Senku rolled his eyes—but fondly. Then turned, throwing one last glance back over his shoulder as he followed Tsukasa toward the exit.

“I stand by my artistic direction,” he muttered under his breath.

Tsukasa chuckled.

“Sweetheart,” he said, his voice dipping low, just for Senku as he brushed his fingers gently across his genius's back, “let them be.”

The doors closed softly behind them.

And at the center of it all, Xeno remained fully curled on top of Stanley, arms still locked tight around his neck, forehead pressed to his cheek.

Stanley still hadn’t stopped crying.

Neither had he.

But they were breathing.

Together.

The room had quieted into a sanctuary of muffled breathing and tear-stained silence.

Stanley, always the picture of composure—the man who’d faced down gunfire, betrayals, and war without blinking—was reduced to quiet, hiccuping sobs. His shoulders trembled beneath Xeno’s hands, and his breath hitched every time he tried to speak.

“I—I looked everywhere,” he finally choked out, voice cracking like it hadn’t in years. His fingers tightened at Xeno’s waist, clutching as if afraid he’d vanish again. “Every port. Every contact. I called in every favor. I was losing my damn mind. I couldn’t sleep. Couldn’t eat. Just—just kept searching. Every. Damn. Day.”

Xeno’s own tears had soaked through Stanley’s shirt, his perfectly done hair now a mess from pressing into the crook of Stanley’s neck. He hiccupped mid-sob, pulling back just enough to look him in the face, eyes red and glistening.

“I… I thought you forgot me,” Xeno stammered out, lip trembling. “You were gone so long—I thought maybe… maybe you gave up…”

Stanley’s breath caught.

He cupped Xeno’s face with both hands, gently brushing a tear away with his thumb as his own streamed freely. He leaned their foreheads together, eyes locked—steady, unwavering, burning with truth.

“Never,” he whispered, voice low but fierce. “Never, my dearest.”

Xeno’s lips trembled again—but this time, it was a smile. Shaky. Tearful.

But real.

“I’m glad…” he murmured, closing his eyes as he leaned into the touch. “As long as I’m with you now… I’ll be fine.”

That shattered something in Stanley all over again.

He pulled Xeno into a new hug—tighter than the last, like he could weld them together if he just held on hard enough. His hand cradled the back of Xeno’s head, fingers threading through his hair.

“Now that I found you again,” he whispered roughly, “I’ll never leave your side again. Ever.”

Xeno let out a breathless laugh through his tears, squeezing him just as hard, before mumbling with a small huff against Stanley’s neck:

“…Dearest?”

Stanley stilled, though his arms never loosened.

“…Yes?” he said, cautious but tender.

Xeno chuckled, broken and breathless.

“I can’t seem to breathe properly.”

There was a beat of stunned silence—then both of them laughed. Really laughed.

Their chests shook, eyes still misted with tears, and the crushing hug turned into something softer, something gentler. They stayed entangled, heads resting against one another, as their laughter slowly quieted into a shared breath of peace.

For the first time in ages, it didn’t hurt to breathe.

Not anymore.

---

Now that they’ve finally reunited, Stanley finds himself trailing quietly behind Xeno, hand-in-hand, as the man pulls him through the winding halls of the Shishio estate. The tension from earlier has ebbed into something gentler, quieter—like the calm after a long storm.

Eventually, Xeno leads him outside into a courtyard where sunlight filters through the high glass roof. Vines climb the stone walls, and flowering plants bloom with careful attention—scientific precision in their arrangement, but soft in palette and form. It’s tranquil, still, and meticulously kept.

“This is the garden,” Xeno says, gesturing proudly, the light glinting off his pale hair. “Senku brought me here when I couldn’t even speak without flinching.”

Stanley watches him quietly, not interrupting, just taking in the sound of his voice—how it’s stronger now, lighter.

“I couldn’t eat properly. My hands shook so badly, I nearly shattered a beaker trying to measure a compound. Senku didn’t judge. He just… waited. Coaxed. He made sure I never felt like a burden.”

Xeno smiles to himself, eyes distant with memory but warm.

“He never asked me to thank him. But I do. Every day.”

Stanley squeezes his hand.

Xeno doesn’t stop talking.

“There’s also Chrome—loud, relentless, annoyingly perceptive. He’s somehow wormed his way into my brain. Claims I’m his mentor.”

Xeno chuckles.

“He tries to mimic my posture when I lecture. I caught him quoting me once—‘Knowledge is sovereign, power merely borrowed,’ or some nonsense I blurted after three espresso shots. It’s infuriating.”

Stanley doesn’t laugh. He just watches.

Watches Xeno’s face, his hands, the subtle tilt of his shoulders when he’s excited. The way he forgets to breathe between sentences. The way color returns to his cheeks when he talks about the life he’s rebuilt.

And Stanley?

He’s not jealous. He’s grateful.

Because someone had held his Xeno together when he couldn’t. Because now he gets to see him like this—alive, thriving, and finally safe.

He gently tugs Xeno into a seat beside the flower beds, wrapping an arm around his waist.

“I could listen to you ramble for hours,” he murmurs, pressing a kiss to Xeno’s temple.

Xeno pauses, then smirks.

“You will. I’m not done.”

And he keeps talking—about Chrome’s latest failed experiment, about Yuzuriha’s tailoring, about the chess match he lost to Gen.

And Stanley listens. Smiling. Content.

They followed the winding path deeper into the garden, where soft ivy clung to stone arches and flower beds lined the walkway with bursts of color. A gentle breeze brushed through the air, and sunlight poured through the lattice above them in golden patches.

Xeno stopped beside a bench. Which had become his favorite spot—quiet, shaded, with the perfect view of the greenhouse canopy overhead.

He sat down with a breathless smile, still mid-rant about Chrome’s baffling combination of potassium and open flame.

“And then the idiot grinned and said, ‘Boom equals progress,’ I swear, I nearly threw my tablet at him—Stanley?”

He turned, and Stanley was already leaning in, head resting against his shoulder with a low, content sigh.

“Are you falling asleep?” Xeno asked, voice caught between amusement and fond exasperation.

“Resting my eyes,” Stanley murmured, eyes already closed. “You’re just so soothing.”

Xeno rolled his eyes—but he shifted, softer now, letting Stanley settle against him fully.

The birdsong blended with the rustling leaves above. Warmth pooled around them, not just from the sun—but from something deeper. Steady. Secure.

Eventually, Xeno let his voice drift into quiet.

And slowly, his cheek came to rest atop Stanley’s hair.

They sat like that for a long time—no words, no pressure.

Just the gentle hush of the garden, and a silence that didn’t need to be filled.

For the first time in a long time, Xeno didn’t feel the need to run his mind at full speed.

He had peace.

Because he had him.

---

Later that evening, warm light from the bedside lamps filled Xeno’s room with a golden hush. The windows were cracked open just slightly, letting in the chirp of crickets and the faint scent of jasmine drifting in from the garden.

Tsukasa had prepared a room across the hall for Stanley—quiet, secure, perfectly furnished. But both men had politely, stubbornly, and adorably insisted that wasn’t necessary.

“I’m not leaving him again,” Stanley had muttered, arm already hooked around Xeno’s waist.

Xeno, for once, didn’t have a witty retort—just an approving hum as he opened his bedroom door.

Now, as Stanley unpacked his travel-worn duffel at the foot of the bed, Xeno’s gaze fell to his hands.

Fading cuts. Scabbed-over bruises. Scar tissue pressed against calloused skin—each one a story Xeno hadn’t been there to witness.

“You’ve been bleeding,” Xeno murmured, reaching out to gently pull one of Stanley’s hands closer.

Stanley glanced down, almost surprised. “It’s fine.”

“No, it’s not.”

The words came quiet, but firm. Unarguable.

Xeno turned, moving to his nightstand. From the drawer, he pulled out a small med kit—familiar, white, clean. It had been Senku’s idea, one of the first things he’d offered Xeno after he arrived. “For if you panic and hurt yourself again,” he’d said, not unkindly.

Xeno didn’t speak as he knelt at the bed and began to clean Stanley’s knuckles. His hands were gentle—too gentle for someone with his sharp tongue and scientific brilliance. Every swipe of antiseptic was measured, precise. He handled Stanley as though he were something fragile, precious.

Stanley watched him, unmoving. His throat tightened as Xeno unspooled the gauze.

“You’re fussing,” Stanley said, trying to make it sound casual.

“I’m allowed,” Xeno whispered, carefully wrapping his hand. “You’re mine.”

Stanley stared at him for a second—just a second—and then his mouth pulled into a soft, helpless smile.

He didn’t argue.

Instead, he leaned down and pressed a kiss to Xeno’s temple.

Xeno stilled—but only for a moment. Then he turned his face, catching Stanley’s jaw in return with a kiss of his own. Their foreheads rested together in the stillness that followed.

Outside, the breeze shifted. Somewhere down the hallway, Gen's distant voice could be heard arguing dramatically with Chrome.

But inside that room, all that existed was the soft sound of their breathing and the quiet thud of two hearts—finally, finally in sync again.

Meanwhile, in their own room, the evening had settled into a warm, lazy haze.

Senku lay sprawled atop Tsukasa’s broad chest, head nestled just under the curve of his collarbone, fingers absently tracing idle patterns across his skin. Tsukasa’s hand rested on the small of Senku’s back, heavy and still, like an anchor.

Silence lingered between them, soft and peaceful—until:

“You think they’re fucking?” Senku asked with a snicker, his voice muffled slightly against Tsukasa’s skin.

Tsukasa huffed a laugh, deep in his chest. “Senku.”

“What? You know I’m right. The emotional intensity? The dramatics? That kind of reunion sex is practically tradition.”

Tsukasa glanced down at him with that fond, mildly exasperated look he reserved solely for when Senku was being Senku.

“You’re incorrigible.”

“I’m a scientist,” Senku corrected smugly. “It’s called hypothesis testing.”

Tsukasa rolled his eyes, but his fingers drifted up, brushing lightly through Senku’s hair. “Let them have their moment.”

Senku snorted again but nuzzled in closer, pressing a lazy kiss against Tsukasa’s chest. “They better be having a moment, after all that effort.”

Tsukasa chuckled softly, leaning down to kiss the top of Senku’s head. “You mean after all that chaos you orchestrated?”

“Tomato, to-mah-to,” Senku said, smug and unapologetic, already settling more comfortably atop his favorite pillow—Tsukasa himself.

And somewhere, just across the hall, the sound of a muffled laugh echoed from behind closed doors.

The estate was quiet. Peaceful.

At least, for now.

---

The next morning, the Shishio Estate stirred to life in golden slants of sunlight, but one thing remained unchanged:

Stanley Snyder had turned into human super glue.

He was stuck to Xeno’s side like he’d never heard of personal space—and Xeno, for all his usual distaste for unnecessary proximity, didn’t complain once.

In fact, he looked... calmer.

The lab hummed with quiet activity. Chrome was across the room, setting up a reaction with a little too much enthusiasm, muttering something about "controlled explosions." Yuzuriha was sketching a design layout nearby, and Gen occasionally popped in to make dramatic gasping noises before being chased out with a clipboard.

But in the heart of the lab, Xeno worked in silence—focused, precise, elegant as always—measuring out a compound with steady hands.

And Stanley?

Stanley had his head gently resting on Xeno’s shoulder, arms loosely draped around his waist from behind, like he had no intention of letting go ever again. His eyes were half-lidded, cheek squished against the crisp fabric of Xeno’s lab coat. He wasn’t asleep, not exactly. Just... still. Present. Anchored.

Xeno didn’t say a word about the clinginess. Didn’t tease or push him off.

He just adjusted slightly to accommodate the weight and continued working with unshakable calm.

A soft snort came from across the lab.

“Should we start taking bets on how long until he fuses with Xeno permanently?” Chrome whispered to Gen, who grinned like a fox behind his clipboard.

“Please,” Gen replied with a wink. “This is peak romance. Let the man cling. He’s got years of cuddling to make up for.”

Stanley didn’t even flinch at the commentary.

He just pressed a little closer, like he’d heard it and was daring anyone to try and pry him off.

And Xeno?

Xeno didn’t even look up from his notes, but a faint smile tugged at the corner of his mouth.

Let them talk.

He had his dearest back.

Let them talk all they wanted.

The others could whisper, tease, speculate all day long—about the war vet clinging to the prince like a shadow, about the way they practically breathed in sync again, about the gravity that pulled them toward each other no matter how many years or miles had passed.

Xeno didn’t care. He wasn’t here to explain himself.

He was here to stay.

That evening, after the estate had grown quiet and the last candle in the hall had been snuffed out, Stanley found himself drawn to the balcony off Xeno’s chambers. The night was warm, a gentle breeze shifting the silk curtains behind him. Overhead, stars spilled across the sky in clusters, blotted occasionally by low-hanging clouds.

He sat there on a stone bench, a worn notebook in his lap, charcoal pencil smudging his fingertips.

He didn’t notice Xeno at first.

Didn’t hear the soft footfalls. Didn’t feel the curious gaze. He was too focused, brow furrowed as he dragged careful lines down the paper, building shadows with short, deliberate strokes.

Xeno leaned silently against the doorway, arms crossed loosely.

“Sketching a new target?” he asked after a long pause, voice light but colored with curiosity.

Stanley didn’t startle. He just turned a page slightly—almost defensively—and said, “Hardly.”

Xeno stepped closer.

“What are you drawing, then?” he asked, and before Stanley could cover the page, Xeno had already seen enough.

The top sketch was of him—his current self, with sharper cheekbones and tired eyes, his hair swept back just like Yuzuriha had styled it, lips set in that familiar stubborn line.

But the page before that held a different version: younger, in royal garb, mid-laugh. And before that—Xeno asleep at a desk. Another with him half-turned, looking over his shoulder. And dozens more—unfinished, shaded, intimate glimpses that no one else could have drawn with such memory-soaked accuracy.

Xeno’s breath caught, quiet and fragile.

“These are…” he trailed off, kneeling slowly beside Stanley’s bench, hand hovering just above the page as though touching it might dissolve the image.

Stanley gave him a sheepish, almost boyish shrug.

“Got tired of chasing ghosts,” he muttered. “So I drew them instead.”

“…You remembered my cheekbones with startling accuracy,” Xeno finally said, voice wobbly with emotion cloaked in dry humor.

Stanley looked at him then—really looked at him. That pale, aristocratic face flushed in the soft glow of moonlight. Those eyes that used to be cold, now filled with warmth and wonder.

“I remembered everything,” he said without hesitation.

And Xeno believed him. He could see it in every stroke. Every line. Every time Stanley’s hand had trembled while trying to recreate the curve of a smile he wasn’t sure he’d ever see again.

Wordlessly, Xeno slid onto the bench beside him and laid his head on Stanley’s shoulder.

Stanley kept drawing.

This time, with Xeno right there—warm and real beside him.

Stanley’s voice was quiet—barely a murmur, as if speaking too loudly might break the fragile peace of the moment.

“I used to dream about this,” he admitted, his eyes still on the stars but his hand motionless over the page. “Just sitting here with you. No gunfire. No running. Just this.”

The breeze picked up slightly, tugging at the loose strands of Xeno’s hair as he turned toward him. For a moment, his expression was unreadable—caught somewhere between thought and feeling, shadow and light.

Then, with the softest motion, he leaned in and pressed a kiss to Stanley’s temple. Gentle. Steady. Full of the promise they both thought they’d never be able to make.

“…Me too,” Xeno whispered, barely audible against Stanley’s skin.

They didn’t say anything after that.

They didn’t need to.

---

The next morning, the atmosphere in the Shishio estate shifted from serene to serious.

Tsukasa had called a meeting at Senku’s request—an inner circle affair. Only those directly involved in Project Miracle’s takedown were present: Senku, Tsukasa, Chrome, Yuzuriha, Gen, Ukyo, and a few of Tsukasa’s most trusted. And now, for the first time, Xeno.

He stood just outside the grand meeting room’s doors, staring at the polished wood like it might bite him. His fingers curled unconsciously in the fabric of his sleeve, his breath shallow and unsteady. The weight of memory—experiments, confinement, the constant dread of being a disposable asset—tightened around his chest like a vice.

But then there was a hand.

Calloused. Warm. Familiar.

Stanley stood beside him, silent but solid, his grip firm around Xeno’s hand. His presence was a grounding force—a reminder that Xeno wasn’t alone, not anymore.

“You don’t have to do this,” Stanley said lowly, just for him. “Not if it hurts.”

Xeno exhaled slowly, his jaw tensing as he finally looked up at him. “It hurts,” he admitted. “But I’m not running.”

Stanley’s lips twitched—not quite a smile, but close. “Then let’s do it together.”

And they did.

Xeno walked into the room with Stanley beside him, every step stiff with tension—but his chin was high, and he never let go of Stanley’s hand until they sat down.

No one questioned it. No one stared.

Senku offered him a subtle nod across the table.

Tsukasa, standing at the head, met his gaze with quiet assurance.

Xeno’s fingers trembled under the table, but he took a breath, braced himself, and spoke when spoken to. And slowly, as the meeting progressed, he started to listen. Engage. Contribute.

It was terrifying.

But it was also… freeing.

And through it all, Stanley never moved from his side.

And so the meeting began.

The topic: the complete and total destruction of Project Miracle.

Tsukasa stood tall at the head of the long obsidian table, arms crossed, expression carved from granite. His voice was low, calm, but edged with the sharp precision of a blade.

“I want everything,” he said. “Every file. Every whisper. Every detail. No matter how small. Leave nothing out.”

The room stilled.

Then, slowly, Stanley leaned back in his chair, arms crossed casually, his voice low and steady. “Facility layout, guard rotations, black sites, transit routes, asset handling. Got it all,” he said, like he was ordering coffee instead of describing a corporate horror machine. His words were clipped, dry—but no one mistook that tone for indifference. It was restraint. Controlled fire.

Next came Xeno.

He sat a little straighter, but his fingers toyed nervously with the hem of his coat. “I… I can provide data on the testing protocols. Compound breakdowns. Experimentation cycles, recovery times, sedation formulas…” His voice wavered slightly, the syllables catching on old wounds—but his mind didn’t falter. Even through the tremble, there was the unmistakable rhythm of a man born for intellect, who’d once buried his heart under numbers.

Senku followed, tossing a flash drive onto the table with a grin that didn’t reach his eyes. “And I’ve got decrypted logs, timestamps, shipment lists, and enough leaked internal emails to burn their entire operation to the ground and salt the ashes,” he said, voice flippant, almost bored. But beneath that lazy smirk was something sharper—exhilaration, yes, but fury too. Cold, calculating rage wrapped in sarcasm.

As each of them took their turn—Stanley cool as ice, Xeno brittle but brilliant, and Senku with his usual brand of chaotic defiance—the table filled with everything Project Miracle had tried to hide.

Blueprints.

Videos.

Chemical recipes.

Survivor statements.

Chrome scribbled furiously beside Senku, eyes wide with horror and awe. Yuzuriha passed files silently to Tsukasa as Gen muttered under his breath about the sheer scale of it all.

Tsukasa listened. Said little. But his knuckles tightened slightly with each revelation, each calculated cruelty spoken aloud.

When the last word was spoken, the air in the room felt heavier. Like everyone was holding the same breath.

And Tsukasa finally said, “Then we erase them.”

And no one disagreed.

---

The meeting had ended hours ago, but the weight of it hung in the air like smoke—cloying, suffocating. Everyone had dispersed: Chrome and Gen lingering to chat, Yuzuriha already typing up transcripts, Tsukasa walking beside Senku in quiet conversation. But Xeno hadn't spoken a word since.

He made it halfway down the corridor before his legs refused to carry him any farther. The flood of documents, the cold terminologies… It had been too much.

Stanley had watched him silently. He didn’t ask if Xeno was alright. He already knew the answer.

Xeno didn’t cry. Not right away. He just… disappeared.

Locked himself in his room. No lights on. No noise. Just silence behind the door.

Stanley stood outside for ten minutes. Then twenty.

Eventually, he knocked. Just once.

No response.

He could’ve picked the lock. Could’ve barged in. But instead—

“I’ll wait here,” Stanley said gently, sliding down to sit against the door. “I’m not going anywhere.”

Time passed. The estate settled into nightfall. Still, Stanley stayed, legs stretched, arms resting on his knees. And finally—

The door creaked open behind him.

Stanley stood slowly. Xeno was there, pale and shaken, his lips parted like he meant to speak but couldn't find the words. His eyes were red-rimmed. Not from crying, but from holding everything in too tightly.

Stanley didn’t say a word. Just stepped forward, reached out, and wrapped his arms around him.

Xeno collapsed into the embrace like a dying star. Not sobbing—just unraveling, quietly and slowly, like a knot being loosened with shaking fingers.

They stood like that, forehead to forehead, Xeno trembling slightly as Stanley whispered:

“I don’t know who I was without you.”

Xeno let out a sound—half-choked, half-laugh. “A lot calmer, I imagine.”

Stanley chuckled softly and kissed the crown of his head. “Not happier.”

Later, once Xeno had calmed, Stanley tugged him toward the garden for some air. The sky was painted in streaks of warm gold and deep lilac. Cicadas buzzed faintly in the distance, the estate’s lanterns flickering on one by one.

Xeno kept close, his hand brushing Stanley’s occasionally, gaze drawn upward toward the vines overhead.

“I’m sorry,” Xeno murmured. “For shutting down.”

“You don’t owe me an apology,” Stanley replied, thumb grazing Xeno’s knuckles. “You lived through hell. That stuff in there—reading it out loud? I can’t imagine.”

Xeno was about to respond when they turned a corner—and nearly walked right into Tsukasa and Senku.

Tsukasa nodded politely, hands behind his back. Senku, however, raised an eyebrow and grinned with mild suspicion.

“Out for a stroll, lovebirds?” he teased.

Xeno blinked. Straightened a little. Opened his mouth—then paused.

Stanley gave him a small nudge.

And so Xeno tried.

“I… I wanted to say thank you, Senku,” he began, voice tight. “For… everything. For not giving up on me, even when I was impossible to reach. For the support, the way you—well, the way you refused to treat me like I was broken. It means more than I can articulate. I… I’m not always the best at expressing—”

Senku cut him off by tossing a nutrient bar directly into his hands.

Xeno fumbled to catch it, startled.

“Don’t get soft on me now, Wingfield,” Senku said with a crooked smirk, hands in his pockets.

Tsukasa chuckled beside him, shooting Xeno a warm look. “That was his version of ‘you’re welcome.’”

Xeno flushed a little, clutching the bar like a prized relic.

Stanley looked at him, utterly endeared.

Despite the quiet charm of the garden, the soft light, and the exchanged glances of affection, Senku’s sharp mind was far from still. His eyes flicked between the two lovers, noting the way Xeno leaned into Stanley’s side, the stiffness still clinging to his shoulders, the haunted edge not fully dulled behind his pale eyes.

There was still weight in the air. The meeting had left its mark.

Senku shifted, then gave Stanley a lazy glance.

“So,” he started casually, lips twitching into a smirk, “how’s it feel to lose a negotiation that badly?”

Stanley raised an eyebrow. “I didn’t lose.”

“You gave us your entire network,” Senku drawled. “You handed over your empire like it was a clearance sale. If that’s not losing, I don’t know what is.”

Stanley grunted. “I didn’t come here to win. I came here to see him.”

Xeno blinked, flustered, face immediately tinting with warmth. “Stanley…”

Senku snorted, clearly pleased with himself.

But then Xeno straightened a little, a rare spark of mischief surfacing in his voice. “Though, if it were a matter of strength,” he said lightly, “Stanley wouldn’t have lost.”

Tsukasa, who’d been calmly watching, turned his gaze toward Xeno with a brow raised in challenge.

“Oh?” he asked, voice amused.

Xeno hesitated. “…I-I mean—”

“I’ll take that as a challenge,” Tsukasa said smoothly, already stepping back and cracking his knuckles.

Stanley gave a low, short laugh and shrugged off his jacket. “I don’t back down.”

Senku let out a long sigh, already turning on his heel. “You two idiots are going to destroy something, and I’m going to be the one fixing it, aren’t I?”

“Training ground,” Tsukasa said, jerking his head toward the eastern wing of the estate.

“You’re on,” Stanley replied, already rolling up his sleeves.

And that’s how Xeno found himself standing beside Senku on the wide, flat training grounds of the Shishio estate as his lover squared off against the strongest man alive.

Stanley’s stance was sharp, military—efficient, cool. Tsukasa’s was looser, grounded in natural motion, every movement like a lion about to pounce.

Xeno watched from the sidelines, arms crossed, doing a poor job hiding the flustered curl to his smile.

“They’re so dramatic,” he mumbled, unable to stop staring.

Senku, beside him, had already pulled out a protein bar and was chewing with faint exasperation.

He didn’t look at Xeno when he muttered, “Testosterone soup, the both of them.”

Xeno let out a helpless laugh as Stanley lunged forward and Tsukasa moved to meet him, the clash of muscle and momentum echoing across the field like thunder.

Despite the absurdity of it all, the garden’s tension was gone.

And in its place—just chaos. Glorious, stupid, healing chaos.

---

The sun had dipped fully behind the horizon by the time Tsukasa and Stanley finally stepped back from their friendly but intense spar, both breathing heavily, both bruised but satisfied. No victor was announced—it wasn’t that kind of fight.

“It’s getting late,” Xeno said, approaching with a med kit in hand. “Come. You’re both bleeding.”

He started with Stanley first—his hands were precise but soft as he dabbed at a scrape along Stanley’s brow, the corner of his mouth tugging into a fond smile when Stanley complained under his breath about antiseptic.

“You’re impossible,” Xeno murmured.

“You love me anyway.”

Xeno didn’t deny it. He finished wrapping a minor sprain, gave Stanley’s shoulder a pat, and stood to move toward Tsukasa, who had quietly taken a seat on a nearby stone bench.

“You’ll let me patch you up too?” Xeno asked, tilting his head.

Tsukasa chuckled. “You’re already walking over here. Might as well.”

He let Xeno tend to the shallow gash along his forearm in silence for a while, before saying quietly, “It’s good to see you like this.”

Xeno blinked, surprised. “Like what?”

“Alive. Healing. …At peace.”

Xeno paused, the bandage halfway around Tsukasa’s arm. His throat worked around a sudden rush of emotion. But Tsukasa’s voice remained warm, gentle.

“I watched Senku trying to reach you,” he continued, “when you first arrived. I saw how much he cared—how he fought for you, even when you couldn’t see it. He didn’t tell me everything, but he didn’t have to. You’re his mentor. One of the people who shaped him.”

Xeno’s fingers moved again, slower. More deliberate.

“I didn’t know that,” he said softly.

“I did,” Tsukasa replied. “And watching him give back—to you, to Chrome, to everyone who needed him… it made me think maybe there’s hope for all of us. Even the most broken parts.”

Xeno smiled then, small but genuine. “Then perhaps we should keep giving each other reasons to believe.”

Tsukasa gave a small nod, and Xeno moved to put away the last of the supplies.

Meanwhile, on the other side of the field, Stanley had wandered off just far enough to light a cigarette—only to find Senku already standing by the edge of the training ground, arms crossed, red eyes fixed on him with that unreadable look.

The silence between them hung just long enough to feel heavy before Stanley finally spoke, voice rough:

“…Thanks.”

Senku tilted his head.

“For Xeno,” Stanley clarified. “For what you did. What you kept doing, even when he couldn’t meet you halfway.”

Senku’s lips twitched into a smug sort of smirk, but the sincerity was unmistakable in his voice.

“He deserved someone to fight for him,” Senku said simply. “You were just late to the rescue.”

Stanley gave a short, dry laugh. “Yeah. I was.”

“You’re here now,” Senku added, a bit quieter.

Their eyes met.

And for a rare moment—no sarcasm, no posturing—there was just understanding.

Two men who had fought from different ends of the battlefield for the same fragile thing: the man they both believed in.