The sound of gunfire echoed through the alley like a thunderclap, sharp and terrifying. Natt’s legs refused to move as the masked intruder aimed his weapon at him. His chest heaved, and he could feel his heartbeat hammering in his ears. Panic clawed at him. He wanted to scream, to run, to do anything—but his body remained frozen, rooted to the ground.

Then, as if time itself slowed, a shadow moved behind him. A strong, deliberate hand gripped his shoulder, and in the next heartbeat, the intruder went flying. Natt could barely comprehend what had happened.

Kiro stood there, calm as ever, eyes dark and sharp, muscles coiled like a predator ready to strike. He had knocked the gunman unconscious with a precise, single strike, and now he crouched beside Natt, eyes scanning the alley for any other threats.

“Are you hurt?” Kiro asked, voice low but urgent.

Natt could only shake his head. His hands trembled as he gripped the straps of his bag. “I… I think I’m okay,” he stammered, though his mind screamed otherwise.

Kiro didn’t reply. He dragged Natt by the arm, moving with fluid, inhuman efficiency. The quiet bookstore owner stumbled, trying to keep up, his feet tangling on the uneven pavement.

“Wait! Where are we going?” Natt squeaked, panic lacing his voice.

“To a safe place,” Kiro said curtly, ignoring Natt’s protest. His grip on Natt’s arm was firm, unyielding, but not cruel—though the strength behind it was enough to lift him off balance.

Natt struggled, flailing his arms in protest. “I’m not going anywhere with you! I don’t even know who you—!”

Kiro didn’t respond, only continued dragging him into the shadows of the narrow alley, where the sound of the city faded into the distance. Natt’s mind spun. A few days ago, he had been worried about spilled coffee and late book deliveries. Now he was being yanked into what could only be described as a dangerous situation—and by a man who seemed more like a weapon than a neighbor.

Inside Kiro’s apartment, the scene was stark and minimalistic. Every item was in its place; every corner was free of clutter. The silence of the room was a stark contrast to the chaos outside. Natt’s chest still raced, and he couldn’t stop looking at the calm figure before him.

“Sit down,” Kiro instructed.

Natt hesitated but complied, perching on the edge of a simple wooden chair. His gaze darted around the room, noting the lack of decoration, the absence of personal items, and the faint smell of metal and cleaning agents. It was impersonal… sterile. Yet somehow it radiated power.

“Listen,” Kiro began, his tone low, “you saw too much. You saw me take care of that guy.”

Natt blinked. “I… I saw? That’s what you mean?”

Kiro’s expression didn’t change. “Exactly. And because of that… you’re a liability.”

The word hit Natt harder than the gunfire ever could. Liability. He wasn’t just scared anymore—he felt like a problem, a target in someone else’s world.

“What… what are you going to do?” Natt asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

Kiro reached into a cabinet and pulled out a bottle of alcohol. Not for drinking, Natt realized with dread, but for another purpose entirely. “I’m going to make sure you forget everything,” Kiro said, tilting the bottle with a calm precision that made Natt flinch. “It’s temporary. Just… forget this night. Forget me.”

Natt’s hands flew to his chest. “Wait! No! You can’t—! I don’t—! I can’t just forget!”

Kiro’s eyes narrowed slightly, and he set the bottle down. He ran a hand through his hair and muttered, almost to himself, “You’re more stubborn than I thought.”

They tried. Oh, how they tried.

Kiro’s attempts at erasing Natt’s memory with a mix of alcohol, intimidation, and cryptic threats failed spectacularly. Natt wasn’t just scared—he was too sharp, too curious. Every time Kiro’s hand hovered over him, trying to administer a momentary blackout, Natt flinched and protested. Every time Kiro threatened consequences, Natt’s panic turned into defiance.

“I—I can’t just… forget!” Natt shouted for the third time.

“You’re impossible,” Kiro muttered, pinching the bridge of his nose.

And somewhere in that mix of fear and defiance, something shifted. Natt realized that Kiro wasn’t cruel. He wasn’t enjoying this. But he also couldn’t deny the underlying tension, the sense that Kiro was always in control, always ready, and always… dangerous.

The reprieve didn’t last.

Later that night, just as Natt was beginning to think he might finally catch his breath, the attackers returned. This time, they didn’t hesitate. The masked figures assumed that Natt was complicit in Kiro’s actions and came in force, firing indiscriminately.

Natt froze, but the world erupted around him. Bullets shattered glass, crates toppled, and books flew off shelves in a chaos of paper and ink. He ducked behind a counter, heart hammering. The soft, familiar walls of his bookstore—a place that had always felt like a sanctuary—were now a battlefield.

Kiro moved like lightning. He deflected bullets with precise, calculated movements, disarmed opponents effortlessly, and moved Natt to relative safety behind a stack of crates. The quiet bookstore owner gawked, trying to process the blend of grace and violence, fear and awe, that was Kiro.

“Natt, stay down!” Kiro barked.

“I—! I—!” Natt stammered, but Kiro’s hand clamped over his mouth.

They watched, hearts pounding, as the bookstore—the one place Natt had always felt secure—was destroyed in the crossfire. Books that had survived decades of wear were shredded in minutes. Shelves splintered, glass shattered, and Natt’s heart shattered along with it.

When the chaos finally subsided, the attackers had fled—or perhaps been incapacitated—but the damage was done. Smoke curled in the air. Natt sat on the floor amid the wreckage of his life’s work, chest heaving, tears brimming in his eyes.

Kiro knelt beside him, placing a hand on Natt’s shoulder. The gesture was not gentle—it was steady, grounding—but it carried a weight of unspoken guilt.

“I’m sorry,” Natt whispered, voice trembling. “All of this… it’s my fault somehow.”

Kiro didn’t respond immediately. He looked around at the ruins, jaw tight. His hands flexed at his sides, a barely contained tension vibrating through his body.

“I didn’t ask for this,” he finally said, tone clipped. “It’s… complicated.”

Natt’s gaze met his. “I know you didn’t. But—” He hesitated. “I don’t understand why I’m here. Why you—why you care?”

Kiro’s expression softened, just a fraction. A crack in the stoic wall. But he quickly closed it, standing abruptly.

“Pack your things,” Kiro said, his voice sharp but not unkind. “You’re coming with me.”

Natt blinked, stunned. “W-what? Why?”

“You’re in danger,” Kiro said flatly. “And I’m not taking any chances. You stay here… and they’ll come back. They’ll—”

“I’ll come with you,” Natt interrupted, surprising himself. His fear mixed with an odd, unexplainable trust. “I… I don’t care. I want to go with you.”

Kiro studied him, eyes narrowed, then finally nodded. “Good. Move fast. Grab only essentials.”

For the first time in days, Natt moved with purpose, shoving a few items into a small bag. His hands shook—not entirely from fear, but from the realization that his ordinary life had ended, that he was being pulled into a world far larger, far darker, and far more dangerous than he had ever imagined.

Kiro waited silently, his coat already draped over his arm. When Natt finished, they stepped out into the Bangkok night, the neon lights flickering off puddles on the street, the chaos of the city unfolding around them.

And for the first time, forced proximity began.

Natt walked beside Kiro, heart still racing, pulse still wild. He glanced at the man who had once been a mystery, now his protector, his guide, and, whether he wanted to admit it or not, the first person who had ever made his life feel… dangerous and alive.

Kiro glanced at him, expression unreadable, and muttered, almost to himself, “Don’t make a scene.”

Natt smiled faintly, though it was shaky. “Too late,” he whispered.

The city swallowed them both, and for the first time, Natt realized that ordinary was gone. Completely. And maybe, just maybe… he didn’t want it back.