The safe house was a total wreck. Red and blue lights from the police cruisers outside pulsed against the damp walls like a heartbeat. The air still tasted like copper and smoke, a heavy reminder of the Savage Stand they had just survived. The Superintendent's executioners were being dragged away in zip-ties, their malicious grins finally wiped off their faces by Tenshin's tactical team.
But inside the room, the world had shrunk down to just two people.
Daisetsu stood in the center of the debris, his tough, muscular body glistening with sweat and the grime of the brawl. He was still half-clothed, his chest heaving as he dropped the iron pipe. The metallic clang echoed through the hollow room, marking the end of the Iron-Fist's fury. The second his death gaze locked onto Yasuo, the Stoic Protector mask shattered. He looked raw, desperate, and completely admiration.
"Yasuo," he rasped, his voice a gravelly vibration that made the baker's knees turn to jelly.
Yasuo didn't think. He didn't hesitate. He sprinted across the broken glass, throwing himself into Daisetsu's arms with a passionate force that nearly knocked them both over. Daisetsu's scarred arms wrapped around him like iron bands, hauling him off the floor and crushing him against his chest. It was a "primal bond" that didn't need words—a silent scream of relief that they were both still breathing.
"I thought I lost you," Yasuo sobbed into the "Wounded Soul's" neck, his fingers digging into the thick muscles of Daisetsu's back. "When the flash-bang went off... everything went white. I thought they took you."
Daisetsu pulled back just enough to frame Yasuo's face in his large, calloused hands. His thumbs traced the dark, purple mark on Yasuo's neck—the territorial promise he had left during their savage heat before the raid. "I told you, Cutie Boy. No one touches what's mine. I'll burn the whole district before I let them lay a finger on you."
The physical touch in the room shifted instantly. The adrenaline from the fight didn't fade; it transformed into a passionate hunger. Even with the police outside and the big issue still looming, the shared focus between them was unbreakable. Daisetsu's mouth crashed onto Yasuo's, a deep, thirsty kiss that tasted of salt and survival. It was extreme, a desperate reclamation of their bond.
Daisetsu's hands were frantic as they mapped out Yasuo's body, checking for bruises but mostly just needing to feel the heat of his skin. He lifted Yasuo up, his broad shoulders rippling as he sat him on the edge of the only table that hadn't been smashed. The physical payoff of their survival was a fire that made the cold room feel like a furnace.
"We have the evidence, Daisetsu," Yasuo whispered against his lips, clutching the tablet that held the Superintendent's downfall. "We're winning. The 'Status Quo' is dead."
"We haven't won yet," Daisetsu muttered, his eyes darkening as he looked at the territorial marks on Yasuo's skin. "But we're not running anymore. I'm the 'Fugitive' they should be afraid of."
He leaned down, his forehead resting against Yasuo's, their breathing perfectly synchronized. In that ruined safe house, the teacher and the baker were gone. There was only the Iron-Fist and his Nurturer, bound together by a Midnight Vow that not even the law could break.