The City Center | 9:00 AM
The house stood as a three-story sanctuary in the middle of the city's fever.
To the left, the hustle of the morning commute;
to the right, the roar of a world that never slept.
In between sat a place shedding overflowing memories of a life that felt almost normal.
Inside, the atmosphere was a far cry from the clinical freeze of the Glacial Manor. It was lively, smelling of herbs and the hum of a city waking up.
A clock clicked rhythmically on the wall—
indifferent and relentless.
It didn't care if you needed rest; it didn't stop for you to catch your breath. It simply kept moving... just as it had for the three years since Nova had been saved by Rivert.
Nova stood at the kitchen counter, a tall, slender figure framed by the morning sun. His hands were steady, rhythmically slicing through vegetables—
one cut,
then another.
The sunlight hit the side of his face, making his skin look like honey swirled with a touch of whipped cream.
The soft, clicking sound of footsteps drifted down the stairs. Rivert appeared, half-asleep and wearing nothing but trousers, yawning as he struggled to peel his eyes open.
"Nova... you don't have to do that," Rivert mumbled, his voice thick with sleep. "I told you, let me make breakfast sometimes."
Nova turned, the knife pausing mid-air.
"You are a terrible cook."

"Hey—"

"I still have bad digestion from the last time you tried to make scrambled eggs with my precious butter masala recipe," Nova teased, his voice lightening. "I mean, really... how can a person be that bad at something so simple?"
He watched with a rare, quiet enjoyment as Rivert's face shifted with every "critical hit" to his pride.
"You don't have to disown my cooking skills first thing in the morning," Rivert grumbled, pouting like a child who couldn't quite draw his favorite thing correctly.
A contagious laugh suddenly shattered the silence of the room. It wasn't just a polite giggle; it was a full-blown, honey-drenched laugh that filled the space for a solid six seconds... before it vanished, leaving a lively echo behind.
On the other side of the counter, Rivert stopped. He watched Nova with affectionate, softening eyes as he poured himself a glass of hot water. He sipped slowly, peeping over the rim of the glass at the man who so rarely found a reason to laugh.
"So, if you're done mocking me," Rivert said with a grin, "care to tell me what you're making?"
"Nope."
Nova turned back to the stove, his eyes focusing.
"It's a secret."
"Yeah, yeah..."
Rivert chugged his water as if it were a pint of tea, leaning against the counter. The kitchen was filled with the domestic clanking of utensils. Finally, Nova poured his "secret dish" onto a plate, garnishing it carefully with fresh cilantro and coriander. He walked to the table and placed it in front of Rivert with a small, triumphant flourish.
"Tadah."
Rivert looked down—then choked on his water.
"Scrambled eggs?"
He looked up in disbelief.
"Are you serious, dude?"
The Kitchen Table | 9:15 AM
They sat opposite each other, shoving spoonfuls of eggs into their mouths as if this were just another ordinary morning. Yet, despite the small physical gap between them, a strange, heavy quietness began to seep back into the room.
The laughter from moments ago felt like a dream—a fleeting illusion that didn't quite fit Nova's true skin. Nova was quiet by nature, choosing his words like precious stones.
But with that man... he somehow let himself flow.
Tik. Tik. Tik.
The clock dragged him backward. Suddenly... he wasn't in a sun-lit kitchen; he was drenched in freezing rain. His feet were raw and bleeding from running miles—miles and miles without looking back at the monster chasing him.
He had collapsed in a dark valley just to breathe, and there, in the middle of his nightmare, a man had appeared. Silver-tinted hair shining under a black umbrella. A tall, steady silhouette.
"Are you okay?"
No one had ever asked him that before.
That single question had led him to this house, even though he had never shared much about himself. Not because he doesn't trust him... it's fear. Fear to drag someone to where they don't belong.
It was better that way.
A sharp flick to his forehead snapped the vision.
"You idiot, what are you thinking about now, huh?" Rivert teased, pulling him back to reality.
Nova blinked, the light returning to his eyes for a second.
"Oh... I forgot to ask. How is your work going?"
Rivert stood, taking his plate toward the kitchen sink.
"Don't worry about it, Nova. Take your time. Leave the dishes to me."
But Nova didn't want to leave it. He bit his lip, trying to find the courage to speak the words that felt like lead in his mouth. Slowly, the lively spark vanished, replaced by his usual "dead" gaze.
"How are things... in the organization?"
Rivert flinched. The sound of the running water seemed to stop. Time froze.
Nova bit his lip again, this time not in nervousness, but in disbelief that he had actually dared to say it. He knew the weight of that question. He knew that by bringing that stupid question into their kitchen, he was breaking the forbidden promise.
But he also knew that if he didn't ask, the gap between them would eventually swallow them both. Rivert didn't turn around. He forced a gentle smile, though his heart was anything but calm.
Here we go again, he thought.
"Everything is going well," Rivert said, his voice a bit too steady. "You don't need to care about that."
He wanted to kill the conversation as quickly as possible. Nova was the only one who knew his true identity—an agent under the sea of sharks. It's not that Rivert told him willingly; Nova found it accidentally. So Rivert had no choice but to spit everything.
At first, Nova had been quiet about it, but ever since the news broke about the two agents killed on the West Coast, he had become a ghost of anxiety.
Rivert gripped the edge of the sink.
I know it's not his place to poke his nose, he thought, but I can't tell him to stay away. I just want that kid to live a normal life. He deserves at least that much.
The Kitchen | 9:30 AM
"Rivert... what if I said—"
Paused.
The battle of should ask or not was running a marathon in his mind. Again he tried to speak, only to stop on the same end. Finally, he got courage.
"I wanted to join the organization too?"
The silence that followed wasn't just quiet; it felt cursed—as if a spell had been cast over the room. The mask Rivert had carefully maintained—the cheerful friend, the bad cook—cracked instantly under the weight of Nova's words.
This was the nightmare Rivert had been dreading.
"Don't even think about it."
Rivert's voice was a sharp blade, cutting through the morning warmth. He looked angry and annoyed by that question.
What did I expect, Nova said to himself.
His tone was harsh, but Nova could see the pain behind it. Rivert's heart was breaking at the necessity of his own cruelty. He wasn't being a boss; he was being a shield. He knew that in their world, sending a loved one into the organization was like sending them to a funeral where they might have to carry their own coffin.
"I'm sorry," Nova whispered, his eyes dropping in shame. "I didn't mean to trouble you."
Without a word, Rivert stepped forward, grabbed Nova's arm, and pulled him into a fierce, protective embrace.
"You fool," Rivert murmured against his hair. "I'm not angry. I'm just worried."
The embrace became warmer as he whispered softly to Nova.
"You don't owe me anything, Nova. There is no debt on your head."
Nova squeezed him back, his eyes burning with unshed tears. It was a funny scene to think about—if someone saw two giant men hugging, they would definitely become the center of endless, embarrassing gossips.
But who could see them?
For a few seconds...
"Everything is going to be okay."
"Pft," Rivert laughed suddenly, breaking the tension and ruffling Nova's hair. "I'm free today. Let's go to the cafe."
He took a long stretch, heading toward his room. As the door clicked shut, Nova scratched his head in frustration.
You idiot, Nova. You gave him worries for no reason.
He leaned against the counter, looking at the empty space Rivert had left.
Blood ties... that lead to ties of the heart.
He didn't know if Rivert was a brother, a friend, a benefactor, or just a stranger who stayed. All he knew was that for the first time in his life... in this unfamiliar city... he had someone.