Crossed paths.

Once Doppio is certain that Diavolo is asleep, he slowly rises to his feet, careful not to make a sound. He lingers by the door for a moment, turning back to glance at the man resting peacefully in his bed. A soft smile tugs at his lips—small, yet genuine. It feels almost surreal to see him there, breathing, alive. With a quiet exhale, he steps out, gently closing the door behind him.

He makes his way to the bathroom, flicking on the dim light. As he stares at his reflection, he barely recognises himself. Exhaustion clings to his features, dark circles painting his eyes, but beneath it all, there's something else—something that hasn't been there for a long time. A sense of peace. Like, for the first time in years, he's whole again. He brushes his hair away from his face before leaning down to splash cold water onto his skin, hoping to wash away the overwhelming thoughts that linger in his mind.

But as he steps back into the quiet apartment, his thoughts refuse to settle. He sinks onto the couch, his leg bouncing anxiously as his mind races. What happens now? Diavolo is no longer the ruthless mafia boss who once dictated his every move. There are no orders to follow, no missions to complete. So what do they do now?

And then, there's the loop.

Doppio clenches his hands into fists. How will they find each other again when Diavolo dies? How will he die? When will it happen? His stomach twists at the thought, a deep unease settling in his chest.

He lets out a soft sigh, rubbing his temples before resting his head back against the couch. He doesn't have the answers. Not yet. But for now, Diavolo is here and that's enough.

He sits there restlessly, his mind refusing to quiet down. Hours pass, the soft hum of the night pressing in around him, but sleep never comes. Finally, unable to sit still any longer, he rises from the couch and makes his way to his room.

Diavolo is still asleep, his breathing steady, his face calm—almost serene. For a moment, he just stands there, watching him, taking in every detail. The tension that usually lingers in Diavolo's expression is gone, replaced with an almost fragile stillness.

Slowly, Doppio walks over, the floorboards creaking faintly beneath his feet. He hesitates before sitting down on the bed beside him, careful not to disturb him. His eyes trace over Diavolo's sleeping form—the faint bruises still healing on his face, the way his chest rises and falls with each steady breath.

A lump forms in his throat.

So much has changed. The man before him is not the same ruthless leader he once followed without question. This Diavolo is broken, lost... and yet, in this moment, he looks at peace

Doppio exhales softly, his hand twitching as if wanting to reach out but stopping himself. He bites his lip, his heart heavy with everything left unsaid.

Doppio shifts slightly, settling into place beside Diavolo, his fingers twisting nervously in his lap. He tells himself he'll only stay for a moment, just long enough to make sure Diavolo is still breathing peacefully. Just long enough to convince himself this isn't some cruel dream.

But as the minutes stretch into hours, he doesn't move.

Instead, he sits there in silence, his eyes never leaving Diavolo's face. He watches the slow, steady rise and fall of his chest, the way his long lashes flutter slightly as he dreams. In the dim light, the bruises and cuts that mar his skin seem even more pronounced, a painful reminder of today's events. A reminder of just how fragile this moment is.

Doppio swallows hard, his heart aching. He wants to reach out, to brush the strands of pink hair from Diavolo's face, to soothe away the pain that lingers even in sleep. But he doesn't. He simply stays there, unmoving, lost in thought.

His mind drifts back to everything that's happened. The years of waiting. The loneliness. The unbearable weight of grief that crushed him every single day. And now, Diavolo is here, alive, sleeping just inches away from him. It should bring him relief. It should be enough.

But the questions won't stop spinning in his head. What happens now? What are they supposed to do? Is this temporary? Will Diavolo disappear again, ripped away from him just as cruelly as before? His hands tighten into fists against his knees as anxiety creeps in, threatening to consume him.

But then—Diavolo shifts.

It's subtle at first, just a slight twitch of his fingers. Then a furrow of his brows, a quiet murmur of something incoherent. Doppio straightens, his breath catching as he watches Diavolo's eyelids flutter open.

For a moment, Diavolo just blinks, his eyes adjusting to the dimly lit room. He looks dazed, as if trying to piece together where he is. Then, his gaze lands on Doppio.

Doppio feels his throat tighten.

"...You're still here," Diavolo murmurs, his voice rough with sleep.

Doppio nods slowly, his hands gripping the bedsheets beneath him. "Of course," he whispers.

Diavolo studies him for a long moment, his tired green eyes searching Doppio's face as if trying to reassure himself that this is real.

Then, without thinking, Doppio reaches out. His fingers brush against Diavolo's, hesitant at first. But Diavolo doesn't pull away. Instead, he grips Doppio's hand weakly, his touch warm despite everything.

Doppio exhales shakily, his shoulders slumping as the weight of everything presses down on him. "I didn't want to leave you alone," he admits, his voice barely above a whisper.

Diavolo offers a small, tired smile. "You never did."

Doppio watches Diavolo carefully, the warmth of his hand still lingering in his own. Uncertainty gnaws at the back of his mind.

"What if something goes wrong? What if you can't find me? What if one day, the loop takes you somewhere I can't reach?" His voice is quiet but heavy with unspoken fear.

Diavolo squeezes his hand firmly, grounding him. "Doppio," he murmurs, his voice steady despite the exhaustion in his eyes. "We will figure this out together. No matter what happens, I will find a way back to you. Always."

Doppio swallows, searching his face, wanting so badly to believe those words. He takes a deep breath, forcing himself to nod. "Okay..."

Diavolo shifts, sitting up further despite the discomfort that flickers across his face. Doppio immediately notices, his expression turning concerned.

"I could give you my spare key," Doppio says, glancing away in thought. "And you can write down my address so... even if something happens, you can still find your way back here."

Diavolo nods, a small, tired smile on his lips. "And we can use some kind of texting app to stay in contact?"

Doppio nods back. "Mhm..."

"See? Nothing to worry about, my dear Doppio..." Diavolo soothes, his thumb tracing soft, slow circles over Doppio's knuckles.

"Are you hungry?" Doppio asks gently.

Diavolo exhales, considering the question. "I think so...? In all honesty, my body hurts too much to register anything else."

Doppio frowns, his concern deepening. He lets go of Diavolo's hand and stands up. "Let me make you something to eat. I won't be long."

Diavolo hesitates for a moment before speaking. "I could... cook with you?" His voice is soft, uncertain.

Doppio tilts his head. "Are you sure you can even stand right now?"

Diavolo nods, determination flickering in his tired eyes. Slowly, he rises from the bed, his movements careful as he tries to mask the pain that shoots through his body with every step.

Doppio watches him for a moment, lips pressing into a thin line. Then, with a sigh, he reaches out, taking Diavolo's hand. "Alright... come on."

With their fingers loosely intertwined, Doppio leads him out of the room.