Between the wire and the fire

---Ayumi...---

When Ayumi left Feitan's house, the sky was still dark.

The blanket she had wrapped around his sleeping shoulders was slowly slipping off, and the kitten watched her quietly as she gently closed the door behind her.

She couldn't stay.

Her mother was alone.

And even now, she couldn't stop thinking about him.

That night, Ayumi barely slept.

Not because of fear.

But because of a thought that wouldn't fade: he had fallen asleep while she was speaking.

She didn't see it as indifference.

Not as escape.

It had been… a gesture.

A sign that, for the first time, with her, Feitan had felt calm enough to close his eyes.

In the days that followed, they didn't see each other.

Sometimes, she would glance outside at dusk — as if by accident.

From the balcony. Behind the curtain. On tiptoe.

The villa was still there.

Motionless. Silent.

But the lights were on.

He was there.

And yet, Ayumi didn't go.

She didn't knock.

She didn't disturb.

"Maybe he doesn't want to see me."

"Maybe that night was just a passing moment."

Time slid by slowly.

Her days were full, but inside her, there was always a small space left empty.

An absence that made no sound — but was always there.

Then, one evening… she saw him.

It was late.

The sky a color of ash, the air thick.

Ayumi had just leaned out, almost by habit — and suddenly, she spotted him:

Feitan.

He was leaving the villa.

He wasn't alone.

There were other men with him. Two, maybe three.

Harsh faces. Lowered eyes.

Each of them carried a suitcase, a duffel bag.

Ayumi even saw weapons — long, sticking out like shadows beneath dark jackets.

They climbed into an old yellow van.

It looked like an abandoned school bus.

But the silence in their movements… told a different story.

Feitan didn't look toward her house.

He didn't lift his gaze.

Ayumi stood still.

Her heart was beating softly — but unevenly.

As if something inside her had just taken a step back.

"He's leaving. Another mission? Another world I don't belong to?"

She lowered her eyes.

She didn't cry.

She didn't get angry.

But inside, a quiet voice whispered:

"Don't disturb him anymore. That time… might be over."

She closed the window.

Cold hands.

The lights in the villa still on, like eyes that never slept.

And for the first time in a long time…

she didn't wait.

---Feitan..---

Feitan didn't say goodbye.

He never did.

Climbing into the van was like slipping into another skin —

one that didn't ask, didn't feel, didn't remember.

There were four of them.

Him, Phinks, Nobunaga, and Uvogin: fast hands, twitching eyes. It never lasted.

The load: weapons, ropes, masks.

The smell in the van: metal, sweat, scorched leather.

The job was big.

A warehouse outside the city, moving untracked foreign currency.

Cash.

A lot.

No cameras.

But armed guards, yes.

Three shifts.

Two nights to study.

One to strike.

Feitan didn't speak.

Didn't laugh. Didn't plan.

He cut.

When they entered, he went in first.

No sound.

Only short, light steps.

As if a shadow had decided to take shape for an hour.

The first dropped without a sound.

A clean slash to the jugular.

The blood splattered, but Feitan had already turned his face.

Not out of disgust.

Out of boredom.

The second tried to scream.

But didn't have time.

Three broken ribs.

Throat crushed under his knee.

Silence.

The third was young.

He didn't shoot.

He asked: "Why?"

Feitan didn't answer.

Not because he lacked words.

But because he knew the question didn't matter.

He left him alive. But useless.

When it was over, he stepped outside with cold hands and a still face.

They had filled the bags.

The numbers were high.

Very.

Feitan didn't look at the money.

He looked at the sky.

And without meaning to, he thought of her.

Ayumi.

Of the scent of sweet onions in her kitchen.

Of the light on her hands while she stroked the cat.

Of her voice, slipping slowly into his bones.

Like an echo.

Like a blade.

"Take her away?"

"Take her where?"

"Why?"

Questions he had never asked anyone.

Now they burned.

He had the means.

He could've done it.

A safe place.

A new roof.

A bed just for the two of them.

But that wasn't the problem.

He was.

Feitan didn't know how to live with someone.

Didn't know how to share.

Didn't know how to hold anything in.

What could he give her, other than silence?

He came back while it was still dark.

Didn't say goodbye to the others.

Stepped off the van as if returning to a cell.

Slowly.

With heavy bones.

He opened the door to the villa.

The kitten greeted him without a sound.

Feitan crouched down, looked at him.

Didn't touch him.

But he was there.

He dropped the duffel bag on the table.

Didn't even open it.

Money didn't speak.

It had never been his language.

He took off his jacket.

It was dirty.

Smelled of gunpowder and dead skin.

He washed his hands.

For a long time.

Longer and longer.

Then, he sat on the couch.

The same spot where she had sat.

Where she had spoken.

Where he had fallen asleep with her voice in his ears.

The blanket she had wrapped around him was still there.

He touched it.

Just for a second.

Just with his fingertips.

Then closed his eyes.

And for the first time after a clean, effective, lethal job…

he felt the void.

Not as absence.

But as her absence.

Ayumi wasn't there.

Feitan stood up.

Went to the window.

Her house was dark.

The room was off.

Her shadow… nowhere.

And something inside him began to shift.

Not anger.

Not desire.

Fear.

What if she didn't come back?

What if this time, he had lost something he couldn't cut away?

He stayed there, forehead against the glass.

Hands still dirty even after the soap.

And eyes wide open.

Waiting.

Without knowing how.

But doing the only thing he had always known how to do:

endure.

***

Five days passed.

Five evenings without him.

Five nights where Ayumi turned in bed, staring at the ceiling, trying to convince herself it was okay this way.

She shouldn't look for him.

She shouldn't disturb him.

She had seen that van. The weapons. The bags.

Feitan had his own life. And it wasn't a life meant for her.

But every now and then, she peeked out.

Just for a moment.

Just to see if the lights were on.

And they were. Always.

One evening, she opened the drawer.

She took out the stuffed kitten she had as a child.

She hadn't touched it in years.

It was still soft, but its plastic eyes were scratched.

She placed it in a small bag.

Wrote just one word on a note: "Friend."

And left it at his door.

No signature. No request.

Just an excuse. A sign.

A silent "I'm thinking of you."

Feitan didn't reply.

But the next day, Ayumi found something small in her mailbox:

an origami flower. Gray and white.

Folded perfectly.

It was his way.

The only way he knew.

And Ayumi understood it.

That night, she knocked.

She brought nothing with her.

Only a quiet heart and her hands tucked into the sleeves of her oversized sweater.

Feitan opened the door.

He didn't say a word.

He stepped aside to let her in.

The house was just as she remembered it: empty, cold, but alive.

The kitten immediately jumped onto her legs.

Feitan closed the door, slowly.

She looked at him.

Feitan stared back — but not with force.

As if he was still asking himself if she was real.

If that presence, that face, that voice… were truly meant for him.

"Have you been back long?"

Ayumi asked softly.

Feitan nodded.

Then, after a few seconds — he hesitated.

But he spoke.

A low voice. Rough.

As if each word scraped his throat on the way out.

"Would you... like to do something?"

Ayumi looked at him, surprised.

Not because of the question — but because of how fragile it sounded.

It wasn't an invitation.

Not even a suggestion.

It was almost a cry for help.

"What?" she whispered.

Feitan looked down.

At his hands, then at the cat, then back at her.

"I don't know."

He was honest.

He truly didn't know.

He had never done anything with someone.

Not in the good way.

Every gesture he'd ever made had been invasion, attack, conquest.

Now he wanted… to share.

But he didn't know how.

Ayumi didn't laugh.

She didn't mock him.

She simply nodded.

A small yes.

"Anything is fine. Even just staying here."

Feitan looked at her.

And, in the smallest possible way — he nodded too.

That evening, they didn't do anything.

No walk, no plan.

They just sat on the couch, like the time before.

She with the kitten, he a little closer.

Ayumi started to speak.

Light stories.

Absurd anecdotes from school.

Funny people she had met on the bus.

Feitan didn't say a word.

But he listened.

Now and then, his gaze would fall on her hands.

The way they moved.

Her voice opening and closing like the breath of something alive.

It was a world he didn't know.

But slowly, he was learning to crave it.

Feitan didn't speak.

He couldn't—not like that.

He had killed with a whisper. Destroyed lives without blinking.

But now…

it was silence that held him hostage.

Ayumi laughed.

Softly. Warmly.

As if, just for that evening, she had forgotten all the darkness.

As if, only for a moment, she had allowed herself to shine.

And he...

watched her.

Not like a starving man watches prey.

But like someone who isn't sure if they have the right to stay.

Like someone silently asking: "Why here? Why with me?"

She sat just a few inches away from him, kitten in her arms, her profile softened by the dim light of the lamp.

The sleeves of her sweater covered her hands.

Every now and then, she tucked a strand of hair behind her ear with a slow, absent-minded gesture.

And she spoke.

Not to fill the silence, but to make it feel like home.

Feitan heard her voice like a warm, liquid thread.

It slid into his bones.

Loosened knots he didn't even know he had.

He had forgotten what it felt like to listen without defending himself.

He had forgotten that peace had a sound.

He watched her.

Every gesture.

Every movement of her fingers as she stroked the cat.

Every pause in her voice when she searched for a word.

Every curve of her smile.

That smile...

he would never forget it.

Never.

Because he had never seen it like that before.

It was a smile that asked for nothing.

That protected nothing.

That simply said: "I'm here."

Feitan became aware of the breathing.

Not his.

His was held still.

But his heart—

that moved.

As if it were trying to find a new rhythm.

One that followed her voice.

He brushed her wrist.

Barely.

Not by mistake.

For confirmation.

She didn't pull away.

Didn't even stop speaking.

As if that touch were the most natural thing in the world.

Feitan lowered his gaze.

He had never wanted something so simple.

A presence.

A night.

No promises.

Just...

"Stay."

The word came out like that.

Raw. Bare. Pure.

Ayumi turned to him.

Not surprised.

Not afraid.

She looked at him.

Just that.

A steady, quiet, full gaze.

One of those gazes that had stripped him bare from the very first day.

And in that silence, heavy with warmth, breath held, and pain that no longer hurt quite as much...

she didn't say yes.

She didn't say no.

Feitan simply saw that she didn't stand up.

That she stayed.

That she kept petting the cat.

That the light was still on.

And he understood.

It was the first time someone didn't run away.

The first time someone chose to stay.

It wasn't perfect.

But it was real.

It happened slowly, like all the things that matter.

No promises. No experience.

Just that strange certainty that both of them, in that moment, wanted to be there.

It was the first time for both.

And it showed.

Hands trembled.

Movements were slow, unsure.

Sometimes they got it wrong, laughed softly, paused to understand how to continue.

But neither of them hid.

Ayumi looked him in the eyes. Always.

Even when she felt vulnerable.

Even when her heart was racing.

Feitan never looked away.

He was afraid to.

As if closing his eyes meant missing something sacred.

Their hands found each other.

Intertwined.

Fingers sliding together like they had always belonged.

Their foreheads touched, as their breaths blended.

Slow. Warm. Imperfect.

Humble.

There was no rush.

No urgency.

Just that moment, and the two of them inside it.

Ayumi's body trembled slightly—but not from fear.

It was emotion.

It was trust.

It was being seen and welcomed, without judgment.

Feitan didn't speak.

He didn't need to.

Because every gesture screamed:

"I'm here."

And when their bodies finally joined, it felt like sliding into a new kind of silence.

Intimate.

Tender.

Their legs wrapped around each other, breaths rising and slowing again.

Sometimes Ayumi closed her eyes.

Sometimes she opened them—just to look at him.

Feitan looked at her like he had never seen anything so alive.

And then, with no "after," no "that's enough"...

they found themselves in each other's arms.

Ayumi tucked into his chest, hair spread across the pillow.

Feitan with one hand on her back, the other still holding hers.

They fell asleep like that.

Still bare. Still tangled.

With slow heartbeats and a room full of new peace.

For the first time in his life, Feitan slept without dreams.

And Ayumi... without fear.

---Waiting...---

Feitan woke before the light.

Not with a start.

Not like when the mind returns from blood or noise.

He woke slowly, as if sleep itself had decided to release him gently.

Ayumi was there.

Curled up beside him.

Breathing softly, a strand of hair across her face, her mouth slightly open—still melted into her dreams.

Feitan didn't move right away.

He stayed there, watching her.

A long, rounded time.

A time that no longer needed cutting or escaping.

He looked at her the way you look at a fragment of life you never thought you deserved.

And yet… there she was.

Beside him.

Real.

The air smelled of skin and warm sheets.

The room was silent.

The cat slept on the rug, curled up like a quiet comma.

Feitan didn't know how to name that stillness.

But he felt it was precious.

And fragile.

Ayumi woke not long after.

She opened her eyes slowly.

She saw him, and said nothing at first.

Their eyes brushed.

And that was enough.

Feitan sat up slightly.

Perched on the edge of the bed.

Lowered his gaze to his hands.

Then spoke.

"I have to leave tonight."

The voice was low, but not cold.

Like a dulled blade: the same shape, but no intent to cut.

Ayumi didn't tense.

She waited.

Feitan turned slightly.

His eyes steady on hers.

"York Shin. A big auction. There'll be the heads. Mafia. Collectors. And a game. A strange game."

He paused.

"Greed Island. We're trying to get it. It might be worth more than everything else. And I... have to be there."

His hands gripped his knees.

He had never had to explain anything to anyone.

But with her, he wanted to.

He had to.

Ayumi watched him.

Attentive. Present.

She wasn't afraid.

She didn't stop him.

Feitan looked at her again.

"It'll take time. I don't know how much. But I'll come back. I promise you."

And then, softly—

As if he'd only just learned how to use that word:

"Will you wait for me?"

Ayumi moved closer.

Still wrapped in the blanket, her eyes tired but full.

She took his hands.

Held them gently.

As if touching something that might break into a thousand pieces.

"I'll wait for you. Always."

She gave a small smile.

The kind she only used with him.

Only when no one else was watching.

"I don't know what this is. I don't even know if it's scary or beautiful. But I know it's worth waiting for. Worth waiting... for you."

Feitan bowed his head.

Her hands…

They anchored him.

As if—even if the world collapsed—

That single touch would still remind him who he had become.

Feitan leaned in toward her.

Their foreheads touched.

Their breaths sought each other once more.

Then they pulled apart.

Just slightly.

Ayumi whispered:

"Come back whole. Or however you can. But come back."

Feitan closed his eyes.

Just for a second.

And he understood.

That for the first time in his life…

there was someone who would wait for him.

Not for what he did.

Not for what he could destroy.

But for what he was,

when he stayed.