Valentin Yuichi's office was like him: immaculate, organized, and distant. Located in a modest building in downtown Tokyo, far from the distractions of the city's chaos, the space reflected the coldness and control he exercised over his own life. The walls were painted in a sober shade of gray, with only a few well-organized shelves and a large dark wooden desk dominating the center of the room. The only personal touch were the heavy linen curtains covering the windows, blocking almost all the streetlight, creating an atmosphere of deep silence. The kind of place where Valentin could isolate himself and think.
He entered slowly, aware of every movement, his hand pressing against the bullet wound on his shoulder, still bleeding under his clothes. Hiroshi followed quietly behind him, his eyes alert, scanning the room. The younger man still wasn't entirely comfortable with the scene, but something drove him to stay, to watch, even though it was a part of the situation he didn't fully understand.
Valentin made his way to the black leather chair behind his desk, sitting carefully. He hadn't spoken a word since the moment of the gunshot, and Hiroshi stood in silence, waiting. The atmosphere between them was different from that rainy night; it was heavier, more expectant, as if the silence itself was a minefield.
Finally, Valentin broke the silence with a low, drawn-out voice, yet firm.
"You'll have to help me with this." His words were direct, offering no room for resistance. He shrugged off his jacket, revealing the wound on his shoulder, where blood was still seeping from an open wound.
Hiroshi hesitated for a moment, observing the injury, his eyes narrowing, but said nothing. He knew it was necessary, knew there was no other choice, but there was something about the idea of getting so close to Valentin in such an intimate way that made him hesitate.
"I'm good with injuries, but you'll have to stay still. And don't try to do this yourself, because it won't work."
Valentin didn't respond immediately but allowed Hiroshi to move closer. He was used to taking care of himself, but not now. The pain was more intense than he wanted to admit, and even he knew he couldn't continue ignoring the signals from his body. So, with a controlled sigh, he leaned back in the chair, letting the younger man take over.
Hiroshi retrieved the first aid kit he had grabbed at the door, preparing everything silently. Valentin watched each movement, noticing the precision with which the younger man worked, and at the same time, the way he hesitated in dealing with the injury. It was a contrast to the confidence Hiroshi exhibited with his weapons or his words. This moment was more... human.
"You've never been afraid of pain, have you?" Hiroshi asked, looking at him while preparing the materials. His voice was soft, but the question lingered in the air, loaded with curiosity.
Valentin looked at him, his expression cold, but now a little softer than usual. "Fear of pain is a luxury I can't afford."
Hiroshi chuckled, but it wasn't a light laugh. It was something more bitter, as if he saw himself in Valentin, as if it were a truth he was trying to bury. He applied the bandages and gauze to the wound, continuing his work.
"You're strange, you know that? The way you distance yourself from everything. Like you don't care about anything except... except being good at what you do," Hiroshi remarked, now more relaxed as he worked with greater confidence.
Valentin looked at him for a moment, his expression impassive. He didn't usually answer such things, but there was something in Hiroshi that made him want to know more.
"And you, Hiroshi? Have you always been like this? Always lived as a thug?" Valentin asked, his tone subtly challenging. He didn't often ask questions, but something in Hiroshi made him want to learn more.
Hiroshi didn't answer immediately. He was focused on the bandage, but there was a hint of frustration in his jawline. "I'm not a thug. I'm not just that. I..." He paused, as if struggling with his own response. "I was forced to be that. I'm not different from you, in the end."
The response was quick and direct, and Valentin fell silent, processing the words. He hadn't expected such a candid, raw reply. He studied the younger man, his eyes narrowing as the wound on his shoulder began to hurt less with the bandage. Hiroshi's words had touched him more than he wanted to admit. But he didn't say anything.
"I'm good at what I do, because I have to be," Valentin said, his voice low, almost monotone, with a layer of fatigue that hadn't been there before. "But you, Hiroshi... You don't have to be that. Not now. Not while you still have choices."
Hiroshi raised his eyes to meet his, eyebrows furrowed, as if trying to decipher Valentin's words. He had his eyes fixed on Valentin, a mixture of challenge and curiosity in his gaze. "And you? What would you be if you weren't this?"
Valentin didn't respond immediately. He wanted to say something, something sharp and cutting, but he couldn't. The words were there, but something made him hesitate. Hiroshi didn't expect an answer, but the question hung in the air, leaving the silence heavier between them.
Valentin slowly stood up, the bandage now finished, but still with the feeling of incompleteness. He glanced at Hiroshi one last time before walking away. "It doesn't matter what I would be. What matters is what you're going to do now."
Hiroshi remained silent, watching as Valentin walked away, the weight of the words hanging between them. There were no answers, no easy solutions, only the inevitability of what was to come.
Both of them knew that. And yet, whatever it was, they couldn't go back anymore.