"I see, forgive me for unable to identity myself". She smiles at the little boy's acknowledgement and pat his head.

"No fears, mistakes are crafted to be corrected and learnt". Uttering the advise she recalls from her own master to the little lord.

"Teacher, could you see my answer, please". Hinaki, the eldest daughter present her own paper to her tutor (Y/N), who smiles and views.

"Well done. May your sagacity persist, illuminating all your undertakings." The little girl, smile in response.

"Well, I offer my sincerest gratitude for your unwavering diligence. We shall meet at our next assembly." The children all bow slightly and (Y/N) nod. Standing up and walking to the exit when her sight meet their father, Ubuyashiki Kagaya. The leader of the demon slayer corp she had no knowledge of until she submit to the wealthy lord's for tuition and was accepted.

She curtsied deeply in respect to the young master and he, the symbol of benevolent and clean man should not bear such ill thoughts of his wondering eyes lingered upon the delicate contours of her neck, where the gentle folds of her attire accentuated each mole and sweet curve.

Unaware she stood straight again and he smiles in shame, eyes dart to the sliver ring reminding of his wife and children he often times forget the moment this enchanting woman step inside his mansion for two weeks now.

"The study has ended ? So soon, I might add". The woman smile wider at the young master's worry for his children's education.

"It is solely attributable to the young lords and ladies' remarkable intellectual alacrity. They grasp concepts with effortless ease and rectify errors with unerring swiftness, bespeaking a most promising future." Praises sing from her lips and the leader smile, basking at the proud of his offspring. "And, naturally, we must consider the lineage from which they hail. The young lords and ladies have unmistakably inherited their father's distinguished intellect and noble bearing." She added, admiration shine from her eyes where Kagaya see his unappealing self at the reflection yet her warmth humanize him, the way she stare directly free of shame or disgust from his spreading disease on the one eye. It flutter his heart when it should not.

"Your compliments are overly generous, but I attribute our children's exceptional qualities, in no small measure, to my wife's own exemplary intelligence and virtuous influence." She frown at the mention of his wife to which he notice and thought, does she dislike her ? A fleeling thought came of the answer perhaps she feels some envy ?

While (Y/N) inside is berating herself for the oversight to acknowledge the esteemed lady's influence, whose virtues and graces undoubtedly should be praise as well.

"Of course". She agreed. "I shall take my leave". Swallowing she stare for the polite permission.

"Indeed". He said with a heavy heart and he stepped aside, permitting the lady to glide past him. The soft brush of her silken shoulder against his arm arresting his breath, and he was unexpectedly entranced by the subtle, sweet fragrance that wafted from her, of peach he believes.

Kagaya is sitting under a cherry blossom tree, basking at the warm sunlight and the cool breeze when a peach he had not know appeared in his palm and his mouth felt dry, with a sudden thirst he sank his teeth in the lush peach tasting the sweetest honey even a nector has fail and the juice glide inside his mouth and some in his hand, he hastily licked the trickle, savoring every drop. He bite and bite and bite more, the more he savor, the more unsatisfying he is feeling and before he knew it, eyes fluttered open, locking onto the inviting curve of a stranger's lips he is kissing with great passion he grace none.

And her kimono's silken folds slipped from her shoulder, unveiling a (S/C) radiant expanse of skin before his eyes that captivated Kagaya's senses he rip his kiss to claim the tender flesh, drinking in the heady fusion of peach sweetness and her own alluring essence.

"Lord, Lord, it's time to wake up". Kagaya's open his eyes wide and it dawn upon him. It was a sensual dream he had not imagine from adolescent. Also the woman with peach fragrance was—.

"Thank you for waking me". He smile at his wife who smile. —not his wife rather (Y/N).

Guilt and rage fill within and he waited, waited and waited for the disgust to come however it did not come. Perhaps because he never really loathe it. After all dreams are of someone's inner desire and shame eat him watching his innocent children running around their mother while he fascinate of another woman. Their tutor, (Y/N). The alluring woman that is seducing him.

Thus when she make her appearance Kagaya hid, not wanting to meet the cause of his destruction.

"Teacher, what deeds can children do to bring joy to their fathers' hearts ?" This earned her attention and she smile.

"Explain, please". Hinaki gulp and look down, reluctant to open up. "Share your thoughts. You are seeking a way to bring joy to your father's heart, am I correct ?" The little girl lit up at her tutor's smoothing voice and nod.

"For few days despite his bright smile, I've noticed a lingering strain on his face these past few days. The faint wrinkles and tension in his demeanor betray his usual carefree air, leaving me feeling concerned and helpless." (Y/N) pat tendering on her back, dwell how adults overlook the keen discernment of children, who, with intuitive sagacity, grasp subtleties that escape the notice of their elders.

"Might I propose that you indulge your artistic inclinations by sketching a likeness of your esteemed father or beloved family? Such a gesture, tenderly presented, may well bring solace to his heart.". Hinaki nod at the suggestion and (Y/N) part her lips when Kiriya took her attention away at a problem he deem is correct. "I am looking forward to". She whisper to her, encouraging before helping others.

"Well, I offer my sincerest gratitude for your unwavering diligence. We shall meet at our next assembly." She repeated the words and the students bow when Hinaki come near her, showing the drawing she crafted. (Y/N)'s heart touched, finding even herself among the family picture.

"I am deeply grateful. I can not alone with words describe how you warmth my heart. Thank you". Blush red her cheeks. "And I know, your father will cherish it a lot". She hand back the paper. "Well, I shall take my leave—". She stopped by the little girl's tuging her sleeve.

"I wish to present him with you". She tilt her head a little.

"If you are shy. We can share this with your mother ?" The suggestion she thought good was discard by her no.

"Why ?" Curiously she ask.

"Because mother is not at home at this moment and I wish to give him now however my nervousness overshadow me". (Y/N) nod, soaking the adorable reason and comply. They both stood up, parting from the others to visit her father, (Y/N) follow behind, (E/C) eyes wondering a little as never wander inside the mansion properly before. Each inch is pristine and polished as expected. A little envy grip her heart from how lavish they own.

"Here, we have arrived". Those thoughts disspeared at Hinaki's announcement. Her eyes stare at the door and wait for the daughter to open who rather gaze at her.

Stood in silence she finally utter. "You want me to open the door ?" The little girl nod. (Y/N) laugh nervously and walk closer to the door to knock once politely.

"Come in. Wife, you have arrived earlier than expected". Kagaya's voice plain and (Y/N) bite her bottom lips before opening the door and peering her head a little.

"Forgive me, it's (Y/N). My lord". The man's flinch at the faimilar voice that captured his dreams and mind and look up, meeting her humble smile.

"Oh. Please come in". Faxing a calm voice, he smile watching her enter in his study room, his gaze lingered on her figure draped in a lavender hue kimono he can not deny to say it's befitting.

His heart pound at the thought of her wishing to see him and wait for her lips to part and say when a little body caught his eye, his eldest daughter shying behind her and holding a paper. Confuse at her presence.

"Well, she wants to present something to you". He watch (Y/N) nod to his daughter who came near him and knelt to present the paper. His fingers unfold and eyes fill with warmth at the realization of a family picture drawn.

However what interesting is (Y/N) on the side too, unconscious smile wide and (Y/N) notice, pushing the little girl's body to hug her father in surprise, that she did. His lavender eyes wide before soften to reciprocating the action.

"Thank you, my child for gifting such wonderful gift I can receive". The girl smile bashfully.

"Welcome and teacher proposed this idea, sensing my unease I have felt concerning your welfare, father". His grip on her hug loosen and eyes met her.

"Oh, forgive father for distressing you, my child". His words directed to her daughter however his gaze remained on her. "And teacher, thank you for your guidance". (Y/N) nod at the kind words.

Hinaki part the hug and about to stood up when her feet slip and almost on her own did (Y/N) run to her student and hold when Kagaya did at once. Their hands top of one another causing (Y/N) to flinch and his heart to race faster at the first touch on bare skin.

"Her skin is softer than I imagined". He thought when she removed her hand.

"F-forgive my rudeness". Her lips stutter, standing up relieve to see her student not fall. The father smiled more, finding her stutter cute.

"Forgiven". The woman nod.

"I-I will take my leave". Bend her body in respect, she turn around to left without his swift permission, leaving behind emptiness within him from their short meeting.

That night he dreamed of caressing a soft (S/C) woman's body. He knew belonged to (Y/N).

The droplets of rain fell harsh on the ground crafting such noise (Y/N) lean her body to listen, melting into the nature, almost lost of her work. If her student did not call her.

She jolt, ashamed by her actions and shake her mind to clear and help the little girl unaware a pair of lavender's eyes admirating her from the sildline.

Soon the study come to an end and the children bow at their gratitude and she stood up, walking to the exit encountering Amane, the mistress of the mansion hastily she bow.

"I have come to give you this, the rain is heavy and returning home might not be safe for a young lady like yourself". Amane forward the parasol to which (Y/N) thank.

"Pardon me, I still wish to return". The beautiful lady nod understanding and (Y/N) walk pass her holding the kind gesture and using it when she step out of the roof. "Heaven, the rain has increased". Her (E/C) eyes stare at the dead empty street and felt a shivers run her spine, walking through the harsh rain preying no ill stand in her way. However god does not bear her wish when the cool breeze and rain turn into a traitorous storm flying her weak parasol away surprising her as her only shield was snatched.

Stood in the middle of the road, dawn setting and her body soaking the water. "I must go back to the mansion". It's impossible to even take a step to continue her journey back home where her parents are waiting. Unfortunately it seem her day would be spend at the Ubuyashiki mansion.

When she return the mansion, standing soaked with blush on her skin from the shame of her lack of judgment, she expected to be ridicule however the pair did nothing apart from taking her to the guest room and advising her to rest the night here.

What escape her eyes were Kagaya's hunger eyes, drawning to her wet body, the way of rain soak her cloth to stick her each curves and skin, he is embarrass by the sound his gulp did. He lick his lips, going outside for privacy for her to change into fresher cloth. He sent his wife away to rest and stood outside, waiting for her former clothes (Y/N) hand, apologizing for being a burden, to he, laugh kindly.

(Y/N) close the door and sigh in relieve at how thoughtful of them to not be cruel while on the outside of her door, lean Kagaya gripping the soaked cloth and sniff on them aggressively. The smell of earthly mix with with her fragment of peach, together it craft the recipe of such heavenly odor he can not help yet lick his mouth to wet the dryness and calm the rush of blood in his lowerpart.

The night came faster than she thought, resting in the estate of someone else feels unnatural, uncomfortable that she knelt from her futon and unfold the small wooden table on the corner and lit a candle to lay the paper and begin writing to draft her mind into a wander to calm her nerves.

Her finger familiar with the brush in her hand move in a fluid motion to write as she please, to no one to intervene and no one to judge yet her forehead still wrinkles and top of the brush touch her lips carelessly, very frequently than an appropriate amount however no loss would be if she decides to part those pillow lips, betray a glimpse of her pearly teeth or perhaps the red flesh of a tongue then the top of the brush will slip into her open mouth fill with saliva and settle upon the soft, plush bed of her tongue where it rest firm and hard, surrounded by the heat and her nector lips close on it's own, deliriously wrapped around the top of only a mere brush however the dignity was shed far long ago as she dug deeper and deeper the brush, befitting perfectly, firm and hard and in desire she suck on those only for the reward to never arrive as she coax, even pleads moans in desperation, rolling and rubbing the softness end of the brush tainting her pure hand in a black ink like a careless little girl—.

(Y/N) turn her head, directly staring at the door. No shadow or a soul stood, confuse by the feeling of watched she continue her writing, the brush still dance between her clean fingers and politely writing.

Kagaya, rest on his back on the wooden wall, breathing heavy for the lungs on his chest for air and close his eyes, sweat glistening from the lustful imagination he imaged pure from the hidden watching by the little crack he made. Her innocent writing turn into such filth his mind craft he can no more deny his desire stretching thin and that he wants her. Near and into his arm.

After all she is seducing him too. The averting glances, coming near her daughter, soaking in the heavy rain to return so sinfully and envy dropping from his wife. Passion must be met. The question is how.

Morning awake her, she sit up, stretching her hands and yawning, slept like a baby. (Y/N) stand up, tighten her loosen kinomo and went to open the door, grasp.

"My lord ?" He stood right in front of her, figure tall to frighten her within the quite hallways. He look at her, gaze so tender she felt unsettle and smile too wide to be happy and without a word she was pushed inside and the door slam shut, her eyes close in the sudden pain on her back, wincing, part her lips to comment when he silence it by blending his own on top of her.

Her eyes wide, (E/C) pupils threating to spill, unable to believe the same kind married man kissing her. Her lips snarl and she attempt to push his advances however caught by his one hand before the other wrap around her waist, pulling her near.

No. No. No. No. No. In fit of rage and desperation with full strength remain in her body she push him away, ripping their lips apart. Her hand twisting free from his grip to slap him only to be caught.

He breaths heavily, lavender eyes decorate with lust and passion that clouded even his better judgement. He eyes her wet lips and smile, they were softer and sweeter than even the peaches he dreamed of and her skin were lovely to touch like feather of a bird. "Do not slap me. I love you". (Y/N) gaze at him in astonishment.

"Why do you appear surprise ? Do you not know I was under your spell the entire time you were seducing me ?" The man is mad, along the disease on his skin, it seem it spread into his brain too for how non sensible words he is uttering, (Y/N) thinks.

Before she can deny such impure accusation he drive into her neck, engulfing her body within his own and sucking the skin he desired so much, and sigh as if given water to survive, trailing pepper kisses on the side to her chin and stopping. (Y/N) grim, unable to stay attach to a situation she wish to never begin, watching him intently how he bore his eyes to her like imprinting her on his memory.

His lips then kiss on her corner of lip.

On her cheek. Kagaya smile and (Y/N) close her eyes in response.

On her closed eyes. (Y/N) suck a breath.

On her forehead. He loves her, oh so much, adorably to die.

And on her lips finally. Sighing in happiness, of how he kiss her, not in dream, imagination rather in real life. Heat garthering under his skin and blush color his cheeks, even his entire face along the wider smile. He looks mad in desire.

(Y/N) let him kiss her this time. Welding her lips open to sink his tongue to taste and hands to roam her garments. "I knew it, she wants this too". Happily nibbling on her bottom lips to into her flesh of mouth, he drink all and every nector she could offer, greedily taking and taking.

His hands while untie the rode to the kinomo and tear open her clothes she bite his lips hard to draw blood and broke the kiss when he flinch. Leaning her head on the wall, she breath first.

"Am I a prostitute in your eyes ?" Kagaya's eyes wide and shake his head desperately.

"No ! Never". Never in the life of him did he thought ill of her.

"Then after having your way with me. You would discard me like a used cloth". She avert her gaze and her voice bored, lack of emotions.

"No, Never". He deny eagerly, how could he when he is flying to her like a moth to a flame, infuriated with her entire being.

"How do I believe you when you have wife and children of your own ?" Her voice raise and eyebrows furrow. "I am just a other woman, you can not marry me. And if you can not, then you won't have me". Yank from his hands she tries to walk away when he embrace her from behind, tighten his hold where she is suffocated and whisper in her ear.

"I can leave her. Leave anything to have you". She smile bitterly and thought foolish, foolish man.

"Your children too ?" Her (E/C) eyes gaze at him and smile crease to nothing. The married man nod.

"I want you only". Feverishly he confess his love over and over and over again that she tune out.

"Then done it before having me". She broke free from the loose grip and he let her because if he wants to own her entirely he must get rid of the worthless ones.

(Y/N) close her eyes in ache of the chaos a man create solely for his selfishness and sit quietly on the carriage Kagaya gave her.

"I do not wish to see your feet wounded". She scoff, wanting to be cradle in her mother's haven.

For the few days she did not dare return the mansion, staying under the roof of her haven and as the days pass in silence, (Y/N) thought the storm has pass unaware it was brewing for the bigger storm because now she knelt alongside her parents in front of the treasures, gifts and a golden swan hairpin on above.

It's gift of marriage. Clearly he is proposing to her.

"(Y/N) ! What is happening ? Ubuyashiki is wanting your hand in marriage ? Was he not wed already ? With adorable children ?" Her mother rain of questions her daughter can not answer.

What would she ? That the man was drove in madness for the thirst of her body ? To own her ?

"Pardon me, Mrs. (L/N). Young master has divorced his wife. He is unwed now, waiting for your daughter's yes". The butler explain calmly.

"(Y/N) ! you can not say yes ! People will assume you as a whore—". She cut her father's worried whisper.

"Say you your Lord that I have accepted the gift and agreed upon the marriage on the date as he please". Her parents close their thoughts, doubts creeping them yet the decide to trust their daughter.

"Understood". The butler left, some guards on her doorsteps for false protection and more for assurance of her not run away.

Within a week, their marriage was set as near as possible and (Y/N) sat wore pure white kimono as a bride she is, the maidens bathing her in praises and compliments she is not in need and her parents wore their dress, masking their tension by the smiles she could see though.

She stand up, going outside and met the gaze of her future husband Kagaya dressed in black, who's name is she going to bear along his possessions.

The man's breath stop for moments watching the angel descend from the stairs towards him, in pure white he will tore eventually and stand beside him to become his forever.

Their vows and the cup was exchange hastily. Guest were close to none and with that they become wed. A dry and marriage based on desires. Nothing alike to how she imagined few months ago before stepping at the cursed mansion. The servants took her first to change in their chamber and Kagaya watched, crazed smile decorate upon his lips.

Finally he went inside greeted by not his new wife rather with empty cold chamber and his mind racing until his sight catch the letter underneath the lit candle.

'Dear husband, I will enter after fully dressed in red thus while waiting please drink the juice I made from my favorite fruit— peach'. The leader caress her exquisite writing just like her and glide to the cup he take to drink. The taste is bitter at first before sweeten, too much to his liking yet like intoxicating he only drink more and more and more.

With a gentle click on the table he place the cup, waiting for his (Y/N) to appear. Seconds bleed into minutes and his eyes flutter close. Minutes pass to hours and the slumber force his eyes to draft, the darkness won.

(Y/N) close her eyes, hoping he took her sleeping drink to fall asleep for her escape to be easier. Her parents sat in front, sleeping as well resting their head on one another, earning a serene smile from herself, she knows could be lost if she stayed with that man. He does not deserve her virtue let alone her heart. The entire reason she offer his prove of love through divorce was because the moment he confess his love, she knew his kind wife does not deserve to rot hence she wished enough for her to break free with the innocent children. Better to be fatherless than an adultery father.

However what she did not calculate his desire control him to send marriage gifts so shamelessly. Knowing she has fallen into the hole deep, she can not escape unscathed thus she agree to marry as promise only to run away somewhere he can never find her. Never, she promise because the place she is running to is out of the nation of Japan. As a tutor and educated woman, she has knowledge and chance to leave.

In the drink she craft, her mind almost wish to put poison for him to eternal sleep however the demon slayer corps need a leader to navigate the end of demons thus she let him live. In misery as she wants.

Amane crumble the letter send by the woman that tore her marriage however the smile that plastered on her face could only overjoy in the misery of her husband of never earning the only woman he hold dear.

Sipping her tea, words from the letter flow her mind of apologize for ruining her marriage and deciding something for her instead of letting her bear a chance, she will forever be in regret and in debt of her.

"She is not a bad woman. Indeed". Amane thought, tasting the tea sweeter than it was.

Perhaps it's from the agony scream of her former husband from his mansion.

"How dare she run away from me when she have my name ! How dare she lie and broke the promise !" In fit of rage he scammble the house upside down, the servants quivering, never seen such side of their master— not even the time of his discovering his disease.

"I will haunt the woman—". Coughs of blood halt his speech and rage as he fall to the ground, blood dripping and scatter on the ground.

Language of love, he has read. When wed to his arranged wife he never felt love rather a duty however (Y/N) changed his colorless life into rose tinted-one. Where he is not tie by duty rather to a love now, her physical touch. And he would haunt her to the end of world if needed.

"Good luck". (Y/N) smirk, throwing a white fogle symbol of ending a marriage that flew to fall on the ground as she ride the ship with her parents, carrying luggage on their hands.

FIN

❅ ── dōma has no real attachment to material things, yet he understands the human fondness in beauty. so the hairpins, jeweled combs, and silken sashes he presents to you are drawn from his vast collection of "leftovers" from decades ago. he is careful, so careful, never to risk placing in your hands an keepsake that might once have belonged to someone you could remember. instead, he offers them with a flourish, smiling as though each gift were chosen specifically just for you.

❅ ── insults don’t faze him in the slightest; if anything, they seem to delight him. you can call him childish, annoying, a downright a charlatan, and he'll laugh heartily, before pressing a kiss to your knuckles, "why, yes, all true! but you still like me, don't you?"

❅ ── scolding earns you no contrition either, as he doubles over in gales of laughter, shoulders shaking as though your reproach were the finest joke he's ever heard. he looks up, grinning widely, and croons, "ouch, how cruel! i think i rather like it when you're mean to me."

❅ ── hand-holding with him is constant. if not to swing your arm in wide arcs, then to twirl you mid-step into an impromptu dance. sometimes, he simply threads his fingers through yours, admiring how small they look compared to his own.

❅ ── when dōma sleeps (or rather, pretends to,) he habitually slides a leg between yours or drapes an arm across your waist.

❅ ── he enjoys sake baths with you. the bath is deep and aromatic, liquid steaming with a golden-tinged glow. half-submerged he sits across from you, hands respectfully idle unless you initiate play. when you splash, he counters with mischievous ripples, shooting rivulets from clasped hands and laughing uproariously at your shrieks and retaliations.

❅ ── he's perpetually cold, corpse-like to the touch, yet that never stops him from sliding icy hands against your stomach just to hear you yelp. "ooh, you're so warm! like a little stove~" but on a redeeming note, when you shiver at the mysterious draft in his quarters, he drapes his cloak over your shoulders with unexpected care.

❅ ── his kisses are never quite solemn. dōma peppers them across your cheeks and nose in a flurry, punctuating each with cute little "mwah!" sounds until you're laughing or annoyed. if you try to kiss him properly, he plays along (though inevitably, he'll attempt to slip his tongue past your lips, far more invested in your fluster than in the kiss itself.)

❅ ── he insists on "sharing meals" with you, though you notice he never seems to partake himself. instead, he sits across from you, plucking up sweets and slices of fruit to hold against your lips. whether you're hungry or not is irrelevant; he beams as you accept the morsel, praising you as though you've done him a great kindness by eating.

❅ ── in front of his followers, dōma tempers his physicality so as to maintain his guru persona. his disciples see you as part of his court or his favoured companion, but nothing more; as he offers serene smiles and gesticulation with elegance, but never touches you beyond polite proximity.

❅ ── formalities bore him in private. he waves them away with a grin, pressing a finger to your lips. "none of that stuffy '-sama' nonsense, alright? just dōma. nicer that way." he prefers the sound of his name on your lips without adornment.

❅ ── when storms roll in, he insists on pulling you outside to watch, uncaring if the rain soaks through your clothes. he gestures toward the sky, presenting the lightning and thunder as a divine performance for the two of you to enjoy. every flash throws his features into violent chiaroscuro, and you cannot help yourself but steal glances at the kaleidoscopic whirl of his irises, the colours ever-shifting. each thunderclap earns an exultant clap of his hands, laughter ringing clear and bright like a child at a firework festival.

❅ ── and when the weather clears, dōma's amusements turn domestic. he delights in dressing you like his personal doll, layering brightly dyed silks across your shoulders, fussing over which colours flatter best. when he finally deems you finished, he guides you to the mirror, slides in behind you, and rests his chin on your shoulder. arms encircle your waist, his smile reflected alongside your image, as he marvels aloud at just how cute you are.

❅ ── he enjoys walking with you after dark, wandering through the estate garden. holding your hand, he twirls you in dizzying circles. at some point he leans down and plucks a flower, tucking it into your hair without concern if his followers watch from afar.

❅ ── when you cry, dōma's reaction is twofold: fat, shimmering crocodile tears immediately well in his own eyes, coursing dramatically down his cheeks as if he's weeping on your behalf. he gathers you into his arms, cradling you close, stroking your hair in gentle yet practiced consolation.

❅ ── when you're feeling down, he produces games to keep you busy: go boards with their black & white stones, hanafuda cards painted with flowers. or even simple menko, slapping decorated cards to the floor with gleeful noise. he plays with exaggerated concentration, and yet somehow always manages to lose. when you "win," he explodes into applause and cheers. (though you suspect that he threw the game on purpose.)

❅ ── he loves to create small "rituals" with you that seem important only to him. for example, braiding flower crowns together from the blooms his followers present to him, a pastime he treats with uncharacteristic solemnity. he selects the brightest blossoms, tongue poking between his teeth in concentration, then beams when his creation is finished. he settles the crown onto your head with a flourish, before bowing his own to receive yours in turn.

❅ ── being sheltered all his life, even the simplest chores fascinate him. he trails after you with bright eyes while you sweep or cook, insisting on "helping." and though he manages a few useful tasks, he is a whirlwind of chatter.

❅ ── he carries you whenever the impulse strikes, with little regard for dignity. sometimes cradled in his arms bridal-style, sometimes straight up tossed over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes. every time he lifts you, it is heralded by his singsong "up we go!" followed by laughter when you protest.

❅ ── you take turns brushing each other’s hair, the simple act a shared ritual. he hums tunelessly as he combs through your strands, teasing knots apart with care, fingers occasionally trailing along your neck.

❅ ── when boredom sets in, he idly traces shapes across your bare skin with manicured nails. often it's kanji characters or doodles. he urges you to guess what he's written.

❅ ── for a guru with nearly two hundred and fifty followers ready to obey his every word, dōma proves disarmingly agreeable when it comes to humouring you. any whim is met with sparkling enthusiasm, "ooh of course! let's try it!" the result never matters half as much as the novelty itself, the brief reprieve you grant him from that endless void inside. in practice, it means he is willing to try anything in bed. he'd probably even let you peg him.

❅ ── the moment he realises his cock is simply too large for you, his reaction is both merry and seemingly flustered. tilting his head, he gives a helpless little laugh, "ahh… tight fit. that's a shame, isn't it?" still, the discovery doesn't stop him from rocking his hips in small, testing motions, determined to find out just how much you can manage.

❅ ── when he finally bottoms out, your gasp and frantic squirming bring him to a pause. he blinks down at the sight of you straining around him, genuinely mystified by how poorly suited you seem to be for his size. then, with mock-despair, he sighs, "poor thing… 'm too big for you, huh?"

❅ ── his way of encouragement borders on parody, but it's hard not to find comfort in it. he strokes your hair, coaxing, "c'mon, you can do it! just a little more and you'll fit me like a glove—oh, not that you're a glove, that would be weird—hehe." the chatter is aggravating, yet in its own way, reassuring. when at last your body yields, he claps his praise with tears spilling freely down his face, shimmering trails on his cheeks. "look at you… so brave! you really did it!" as if you had performed a great miracle.

❅ ── he watches himself disappear inside you with rapt fascination, murmuring to himself, "wahh… it really all goes in, huh?"

❅ ── when you whimper that it's too much, his lips curl into an exaggerated pout, "eh? too much? but it's just me! i'll be gentle, promise." the promise shatters within two thrusts, his eagerness far outweighing his self-control.

instead, luminous tears trail down his cheeks, conjured from the same reservoir of manufactured empathy he has siphoned all his life. beneath the mimicry, something else stirs. shy continents of yearning begin to surface across the frozen sea of his soul, cold and treacherous as the bering strait.

with mild astonishment, the demon realises he has grown fond of you. (the word itself is paltry, but it is the only one he can reach for.) it needles at him, this fondness. it sits like a grain of sand inside a defective oyster—an irritant that can never transmute into a pearl, hurting precisely because of its futility. dōma has always known something is wrong with him. the absolute absence of feeling that defined his existence. awareness has never troubled him before. and yet, when your eyes meet his, they do not reflect the moronic, worshipful glaze of a disciple gazing at their idol. the difference unsettles him. he thinks he likes that, though why, he cannot say.

your finite lifespan is a problem. fleeting decades drift past him like ice floes, but you cannot endure time measured in his scale. dōma imagines you succumbing to old age and disease, and the thought is… vexing. not that it saddens him (sadness remains foreign to the demon) it is more akin to a strand of sinew stuck between his teeth.

for once, dōma finds himself at a loss.

he rolls the dilemma over and over, as he might a string of juzu beads. two solutions present themselves, neither borne from kindness. one: kill you gently, let your blood sluice down his throat, marrow melting into his belly until your essence lives within him forever. the other: offer you his blood, extend your life into an endless night and watch your humanity fade away.

how inverted this is. ordinarily, his logic in consuming his disciples has always been a false benevolence that paints their deaths as salvation. for the first time, he wants something for himself. not for sustenance, merely for the selfishness of keeping you forever.

as your head lolls back, his palm rises to cradle the base of your skull, thumb stroking idly against your nape. a morbid collector’s mind notes the pleasing symmetry of your occipital bone; yet the notion of seeing it stripped of its casing of flesh repulses him. he would rather keep it where it rests now, attached to the living column of your neck.

something is wrong with him. he is certain of it.

the latter path carries its own perils: muzan’s inevitable wrath, should the truth ever come to light—and that man is nothing if not theatrical when enraged. with his obsession on finding the blue spider lily, muzan tolerates no deviation that does not serve his singular crusade. what a temper he’d throw if he discovered one of his upper moons had strayed into a side-quest for something so… frivolous. dōma has the faintest suspicion that muzan doesn’t like him much to begin with. oh well. liking has never been a prerequisite for receiving blood. still, the repercussions might prove entertaining. perhaps his lordship would rip out his tongue or gouge his eyes in a fit of pique—wouldn’t that be delightful? not that dōma is scared of the demon king. the absence of fear remains one of the consolations afforded by his inability to feel.

and yet, the ultimate obstacle remains not muzan, but you. he doubts you would ever accept his offer. your purity is one of the many things he likes about you, making the notion of corrupting you… ah, what word to use… regrettable. he cannot even be certain you would love him enough to forfeit your humanity for his sake. and yet, absurdly, that is what he has begun to crave: not the reverence his disciples lavished upon him—devotion bartered for false salvation—but something far rarer.

all this thinking is giving him a headache. with a little “heh~” of exasperation, dōma lifts one hand. his index finger, tipped with a pointed nail stained with a lavender hue, finds his temple. there’s a wet, glutinous squish as he breaches skin and bone with no more resistance than soft clay, the digit swirling lazily through the pulpy grey matter. there is no pain, only the exquisite release of pressure. a small shudder of relief runs through; his headache dissipates. a viscous trail of brain-matter mixed with dark blood glistens down his knuckle when he withdraws with a soft pop. the wound knits shut at once, skin sealing over bone. unmarred, not even a smear of blood. dōma slips the soiled finger into his mouth, sucking idly at the residue, tasting nothing in particular but enjoying the motion.

a soft exhalation slips from your parted lips, and he tightens his hold by the smallest degree. even in sleep your fingers seek him, curled into the fabric of his robes—you are but a trusting lamb resting in a monster’s lap. he looks down at you and feels, for a fleeting instant, a bewildered flutter in the hollow cavity where his heart ought to be. you look so very cute. the thought arrives with disarming simplicity.

his eyelids lower, half-veiling the kaleidoscope of his irises so it softens to a muted glimmer. the smile remains, serene and unchanging.

ah… decisions, decisions. should he simply absorb you now, keep you forever? you wouldn’t feel a single thing. or he could try the other way, poke a little hole at your neck, his blood filling the cavity. it would sting a little at first, but then—oh, eternity! your pretty face unspoiled by age, your hands still fitting inside his.

how novel, to find himself hesitating.

in his arms you stir, the fog of sleep still clouding your vision before your gaze finally meets his prismatic eyes. blessedly, he does not need to make the decision tonight. his expression brightens—a smile that breaks across his face like sunlight spilling over the horizon.

“ah! you’re finally awake,” dōma coos, tapping the tip of your nose with the very finger he’d only moments ago absently dug into his own skull.

Making the best of a difficult situation was easier said than done.

Especially when that situation involved shackle bolts and a flea-ridden room, furnished only with a makeshift cot and a stained blanket, barely fit enough for two.

A vacant room taller than it was wide, powdered in dust and spider silk infesting the corners. It reeked of soot and sawdust, the air tasting thick on the tongue. Enough to make your nose itch, your eyes water. Stuffy enough to add a tally of sleepless nights etched into the concrete walls with a broken nail.

It was revolting.

Sweltering in the summer and frostbitten in the winter, it was enough that even the vermin decided to evade the room. Instead, retreating to scuttle in the walls and the cramped space of the attic. Chewing on the flimsy plaster.

The dangling lightbulb above them had long fizzled out. The only light that dared to enter came from a barred window, almost touching the ceiling, letting a shady stream of silver sunlight illuminate the dust particles in the air. 

In the nose, in the lungs.

Though it was never quiet, it was not quite lively either. The room was usually filled with the sounds of soft snoring or the dull hum of a lullaby sung from a tight throat. Whispers containing words of comfort are shared between two.

Spoken as fingers combed through overgrown strands. While tugging the ragged old blanket closer, their hands were pressed together to recite a prayer lost to the horror that had befallen their homeland.

Mama Fenge, Mama Fenge.

A ritual of the tongue, spoken in the early hours of the dawn.

But today was different.

“YOU BASTARD–!!”

Kakavasha screamed until his throat was raw, until his tongue shrivelled and the skin on his lips broke. Calling out curses as he clawed at the man who had bought him for sixty tanba, and his sister only half of that.

His nails pierced the flesh of his arm, jagged teeth biting into the tough skin. Foam spilling from his mouth as he heard confused cries erupting from the little girl currently shepherded away from him. Her eyes were darting about, hands hitting at the arm that bound her. 

“K-Kakavasha–?! Kakavasha– What’s happening..?!”

“Let go of her– LET GO OF HER–!!”

“Get your hands off me, mutt!”

Kakavasha was met with a swift slap to the face. He yelled out. His firm palm forcing Kakavasha to stumble, a red mark beginning to blister his skin. It wouldn’t stop him. His eyes were straining in their sockets.

The man let out a chortling laugh, sounding almost like a bark.

“You might be good pitted against the other dogs in the ring, but against me? You can’t raise a hand, boy.” He spat through tobacco-tinted lips. “You dare fight back against your master? You’ve lost your mind.”

Kakavasha screamed at his words, continuing to claw at him. His arms darting out, clamouring, trying to grab his little sister looking at him in terror. Barely breaking the age of six. 

“K-Kakavasha– Ghck–!”

She let out a scream, and the man yanked her away by the collar. Strangling her with the fabric, making her let out a flurry of coughs.

“You’ve pissed me off for the last time. With your lazy attitude and your back-talk, you’re lucky I even let you keep the brat in the first place. Hasn’t even got a smidgeon of your value.” The man spat. “You thought you could act up without any consequences? This’ll teach you to be obedient, mutt.”

[F/N], his sister, was being yanked away towards the old metal door at the end of the room. Rusted at the hinges, screeching as the man lugged it open.

She tried kicking and hitting at him, but her wrists were as thin as chalk, and her little stomach almost curved inward from what little scraps she got for food. It was a pebble pattering against a tile roof. 

[F/N] cried out. The man’s timber hands lugged her towards the door.

“YOU’RE HURTING HER–!! LET HER GO–!!” Kakavasha hollered. This couldn’t be happening; he wouldn’t let it happen. His eyes strained at his sockets as he lunged for the man, watching as he stood thick within the doorframe.

He wouldn’t let him take her, not her, not the only person he had left.

But it was too late. Kakavasha choked as he felt a pudgy hand grab him by the jugular. Trimmed nails dug into the flesh of his skin, into the commodity code charred on his neck.

He was thrown back into the room, his body crashing into the concrete floor with a thud. He spluttered, saliva trickling down his lips as he scrambled to gather his bearings. Noises erupted from his throat like an alarmed animal.

Kakavasha tried to get up, evading his knees buckling by a hair as he lunged for the door. The dirt under his nails begged to tear into that cretin’s arms, to bite a hole-punch into his jugular, to get his filthy fucking hands off his sister.

But it was too late.

Kakavasha slammed against the cold, hard surface of the door, a mouthful of rust. Head crashing against the old steel, his throat warbling, jagged knuckles banging over and over against the door.

He screamed louder. His voice is unrecognisable. 

“I’LL KILL YOU, YOU BASTARD- I’LL FUCKING KILL YOU!” Kakavasha roared as he heard the heavy thumps of the man's footsteps lugging down the hall, and the shrill cries of [F/N], calling out his name over and over again, begging him to help her. “GIVE HER BACK– I’LL FUCKING TEAR YOU APART!!”

His fist banged against the door, trembling, shaking as it slid down the metal.

Kakavasha felt his knees buckle under him, his voice erupting into a horrid mix of screaming and sobbing. His matted hair fell across his face, dripping in the salted tears that now began to wet his cheeks.

He collapsed onto his shins, blood trickling onto his lips.

“Give her back–! Give her back..” Kakavasha choked as he shrank against himself, his hands shaking as they grabbed clumps of his hair. Repeating that mantra over and over again, his voice warbling, lip trembling. “P-Please..”

He sat there for ages, his voice warbling off incoherent bargains, listing off anything and everything he’d do for her to be brought back. He’ll beg. He’d never speak out again. He’d win him a fortune. Sell his eyes or his tongue if he preferred.

Just so she’d not be sold off to another owner, to take him with her at the very least.

Kakavasha wailed and writhed. She was a kid. A child. His pubescent voice screamed. She couldn’t survive– She wouldn’t last a day– Not without him. She’d be torn apart– eaten alive– He wanted to throw up.

His nails dragged scarlet streaks into his skin, realising that the last of his family had been ripped away from him.

Gone.

Kakavasha could feel something break.

✦〘║♠♣♥♦║〙✦

“Penacony, hm?”

Pier Point’s casino, his own personal playground.

A glitzy place that was drenched in perfume, petrichor, hiding the bitter scent of cigarettes burnt out in whiskey glasses. You could taste it on your tongue, just like you could hear the giddy laughter, the flicking of slot machines, or the distraught shouts of a man losing the last of his fortune as he was dragged out by the guards.

Beautiful, wasn’t it?

The entire area was wide-open, with polished pool tables and rows of slot machines for miles. You could get lost by the bar alone, entranced by the way the dim, smooth lights reflected off the display of crystalline glasses and top-shelf wine.

And the barstools were filled.

Sit down, have a cocktail or two. It’d cost you an arm and a leg, but to the patrons in here, it would be far more than worth it. To the raving crowds– Men in scuffed suits and women with credits stuffed down their brassieres–  

They were more than willing to indulge, vices hidden under the virtue of porcelain smiles and frivolous laughter.

And the environment intoxicated him.

“The Planet of Festivities. Opal was originally meant to take the project, but Diamond wanted someone more.. amicable, as according to him, the Family still has room for cooperation.” He mused lowly. “And as it happens, they want little old me to take on the project for him.”

Aventurine sat by his lonesome, leaning back on his chair, languidly admiring a gambling chip between his fingers. A half-filled glass of amber whiskey sat on the edge of the table, right next to the pre-made cigars and playing cards.

The rings glinted on his gloved fingers. Despite the bustling of the crowds, the broad alcove he sat in was barren.

The competitors that had previously sat there alongside him were long since dragged out, right after gambling the last of their fortunes right into his palms.

“It astounds me that someone such as yourself would be trusted with such a high-profile project, “ Ratio spoke, his arms folded as he stood by the dimly lit wall. Disinterested. “Do not mistake my words, nor my belief in your abilities. However.. amicable? You?”

Aventurine set down the chip in his fingers, the smile tightening on his face at the chiding tone of his coworker. 

“I can be charming when I need to be, doctor.” He responded idly, turning his sigonian eyes to observe his coworker lingering in the dark. Aventurine tried not to show his disdain, but he already knew that Ratio was aware of it. “I’ve never had any trouble finding a poker table to play at.”

“Ah, yes, I suppose that’s why you’re sitting here alone, I take it?” 

Aventurine hummed, acknowledging the statement, but he made no move to respond. Simply sitting up on his chair, enough to lean over and slip one of the cigars into his fingers. Ratio watched with narrowed eyes.

Fishing out a lighter from his coat pocket, he put the cigar up to his lips.

“We’re getting off-topic here.” Aventurine spoke idly, flicking the lighter a few times. “But you’re right. Penacony is a high-value project and a future investment. The IPC has been wanting to get it back in its grasp for quite a while now; however, due to The Family’s suspicion, there has been little opportunity to make a move.”

He took the cigar out of his mouth, smoke blowing past his lips.

“..Until now.”

Aventurine turned his focus to the centrepiece amidst the playing cards.

In the middle of the table was a small box set with a cartoon clock character, waving goofily with static, pencil-drawn circles for pupils. The ribbon that had come with it had already been cut off, and the happy little tune with the odd discordant note had already been played.

“A secret message hidden in an invitation to the Charmony Festival,” Aventurine spoke. “Of course, I have no interest in the Watchmaker's legacy; instead, just the opportunity it provides. I doubt the family sent the invites, and I also don’t doubt that several other factions have been invited too.”

“And let me guess.. You already have a plan?”

“Of course. The Family isn’t untouchable. And as I said–” Aventurine flashed a smile that was all teeth. “I can be quite charming.”

He set the cigar aside, casually snuffing it out on the tobacco disk. 

Ratio narrowed his eyes from afar, his face not bothering to hide the contempt as it contorted into irritation. It was only fairly recently that he had known the man, and he had come to find that Aventurine was as unlikeable as they had come.

Vain, arrogant, hedonistic.

It was understandable why the only companionship he found was over a game of cards. Ratio wouldn’t have even entertained him if not for the fact that he had won each time. Through strategy or pure luck, he had prowess in both.

That and Ratio’s own books had gotten tedious.

He’d rather be anywhere other than here, but a job had to be done. And the simpletons at The Intelligentsia Guild could barely hold a candle in academic debate with him. He couldn't care less about the Stoneheart, but at least he could keep up.

Both of them were aware of this fact.

Aventurine flipped his hat onto his head, settling the rose-tinted glasses over his eyes.

Why he had been assigned Penacony, he wasn’t sure. 

Perhaps his luck knew something that he didn’t.

✦〘║♠♣♥♦║〙✦

“Under a false identity, [F/N], Codename: Peahen, will go to Penacony to witness the three deaths, and experience the sweet dream of The Reverie.

She will assist the Astral Express on its journey throughout the dreamscape and encounter a shadow of the past. Eventually, she will be forced to make a difficult decision.

The outcome is to be determined.”

Penacony was the epitome of Pandaemonium.

That was the first thought that had run through [F/N]’s mind as she stepped into the billowing reception, filled to the brim with excited guests frolicking around. Checking in. Loitering in the lobby. Catching up with an unforeseen acquaintance.

She was never quite prepared for crowds, or to be specific, their noise. The chatter was like a surging wave, the dings of elevators, and the eternal ticking of clocks. All coming from the goliath of a revolving timepiece– Way off in the distance, and far grander than any clock she had ever seen before.

And the people..

They were dressed to the nines in velvet and silk, rings and bangles that cost more than a small moon. Rings of pearls and bouquets of feathers. She watched as they mingled about, their accents dripping with money, yet their words spoke of cheap thrills.

[F/N] shuddered.

Could there be anywhere worse in the cosmos to be?

“Keep your head in the game, Peahen.”

[F/N] jumped.

Silver Wolf’s voice echoed through the radio nestled discreetly against her ear, easily mistaken for a piercing or a hearing aid from afar. She sounded like she had lost another match, her tone somehow both dull and sharp simultaneously.

[F/N] gulped, quietly glancing at the nearby security camera as she adjusted her collar.

“Cut me some slack, this is my first time.” She spoke under her breath, making sure she looked presentable as she stood amidst the people walking by her. “You can’t blame me for being off game.”

“You'd better get back on it then. I hate playing with newbies.”

“I’ve been here longer than you, Silvie.”

“Do not call me that.” Silver wolf deadpanned. “And since you’ve never been out on the field before, you technically are a newbie.”

The outfit chosen by Kafka had been meticulously picked from her own closet. Bestowing [F/N] with one of her pristine jackets that lay over her shoulders, hiding a neat blouse and tie to match a formal pair of slacks and sliders.

Kafka had pinched her cheek, commenting that [F/N] was all grown up now. The older woman hiding her hesitance under a rich drawl.

Blade had stood in the doorway, his expression sharp, lip twitching as if wanting to say something but refraining.

[F/N] had tried her best to smile, but a voice kept nagging in the back of her head.

She had already grown up two years ago, back when she blew out the candles on her eighteenth birthday.

“I guess you’re right.” [F/N] admitted as she scratched the back of her ear, beginning to walk forward down the rich red carpet of The Reverie’s reception. Her footsteps were silent as she walked. “But it doesn’t matter. I’ll act out this script just as well as any of you could; you’ll see.”

Silver Wolf let out an amused huff.

“Whatever. They coddle you way too much, you know.” She mused. “If Elio never assigned you a script, I bet they would’ve kept you benched forever.” 

“That’s not true–” [F/N] scoffed as she continued walking. “They mean well, and they would’ve let me go eventually– Elio just…. streamlined the process..”

“Mhmmmm.. Sure.”

[F/N] rolled her eyes at Silver Wolf’s tone, biting back a remark that could spark a quarrel. She’d save it for when the mission was over; they could argue all they wanted when they had a pair of controllers in their hands, but right now, [F/N] had bigger things to think about.

Silver Wolf, for once, could agree.

“Whatever. Just stick to the script– however vague it is– and keep your disguise intact.” She spoke. “It took forever to intercept that invitation, and it cost me all of my game accounts, so don’t even think of getting any ideas.”

Her voice lowered, almost as if she was hesitating.

“And I know you’re excited about being out on the field. But if you do anything stupid, I won’t hesitate to inform Bladie and get him to intervene.” Silver wolf spoke. “He hasn’t said it outright, but I can tell he’s upset that you’re going in there alone.”

Silver wolf paused.

“And that script Elio gave was more vague than it usually is in outcome.” She spoke slowly, irritated, but hesitantly.  “I can hear him grinding his teeth from in here. And I still have a backdoor to the sweet dream, so don’t think for a second that if anything goes wrong, he won’t be there in a minute to get you out.”

That won’t be necessary. She wouldn’t let it be necessary.

“I understand.” [F/N] replied. “And besides, if anything goes wrong, SAM will be around.”

Silver Wolf seemed satisfied with that answer, as [F/N] heard the sounds of her picking up her console and unpausing her game. She leaned back in her chair, probably kicking up her legs as her finger hovered over a button.

“Good luck, Peahen.”

And with a click, the connection cut off.

[F/N] sighed, feeling herself wade back into reality as she stood in line. Being left to her thoughts was a lot more harrowing than it usually was, making her subtly clutch the hems of her cuffs.

Being a Stellaron Hunter was.. Daunting.

Maybe. She had barely even started, and [F/N] already wondered why she wanted this so badly in the first place. Her mind began to wander. Perhaps spending too many days in an empty house, waiting for the rest of her crew to come back from a mission they forbade her from has.. Done things to her.

Subtly.

When she was alone with her thoughts, itching at her skin, and asking why she couldn’t go? When would it be her turn? 

Wondering why she was even here in the first place, where it all went to hell. Her mind was swirling deeper and deeper into unsavoury territory. Pondering the day when fire began to rain from the sky, when she first smelt the scent of copper–

Stop.

[F/N] lifted her head, hearing her called forward to the reception. She couldn’t be thinking like that, not now.

He’s dead. They’re dead.

Forget about it.

Whatever. She stepped forward towards the main desk, lowering her shoulders and straightening her back. Confidence, that’s what she needed. Follow the script, play your part. We all have our roles in the play of fate.

Her eyes connected with the receptionists. The coloured contacts in her pupils hide the rings of a brilliant magenta and cyan. Hiding the heritage hidden within.

She extended her invitation, her expression hardening into perfect steel.

“of course I’m not,” he huffs. his patience is fabricated and fragile. the hand lets go of the marker. he rubs his temples slowly before adjusting his thick glasses. “you know we’ve been over this.”

he examines your expression once more. although he’s content he has proved himself multiple times already, your eyes don’t linger on him. instead, they’re on the paper. you read it out loud one more time.

“here. it’s all that really happened,” you conclude.

however, his lifted eyebrows don't exactly humor you. “what are you scared of?”

you don’t answer. even so, he knows that it’s not anxiety, not exactly, but rather, it’s a punishment of making sure he understands you declare him to be unworthy of trust, and doing it by stripping him of the loyalty you once showed.

he can’t help but sneer at your arbitrary decision. neither your fear of law nor the false sense of satisfaction coming from disobeying them could save you. he, on the other hand, can give you a sanctuary. he can make sure every single person in the court would believe you are the only innocent one in the room, if that’s what you want. he could create new evidence, make up new alibis and new arguments. or, if you’re finally fed up with the whole procedure, a brand new identity would always be granted to you by the law itself, by him.

“that’s not what happened.”

and it’s not even hard to do so, because anyone -anyone familiar with the bar association, to be precise- is aware of what he is capable of. and while his unfaltering demeanor makes you uneasy now, when you two first met, it was the sole reason you hired him. could anyone really blame you?

“why would I tell you that anyway? so that you could go and kill them too?”

“sweetheart, you know I would never do that.”

“yeah? oh god, fucking save it. everyone’s been on my ass all thanks to you,” you almost spit. “they’re interrogating me, making me doubt every single statement I have given with their mind games and subtle threats. I’m about to confess a crime I have not even fucking committed," venom goes through your veins, yet his unbothered expression pisses you even more. heavens, he truly achieves the impossible every single time.

“alright— I think you should calm down a bit. I’m here to help you; nothing more and nothing less.”

he says so, but you already made it to the sensationalist headlines with your multiple crime records. now a new one is added to the list all because he had to be your attorney.

“they paid you so you could defend me.”

he fixes his glasses once more, “that’s exactly what I’m doing.”

“by getting rid of the complainants? are you kidding me?”

“I’ve done no such thing.”

you look up him one last time, giving him one last chance as you’re giving him a subtle nod, “right,” your smile is almost as professional as his, “I’d like to change my lawyer.”

the smile on his face falters and it’s a sight that is yet to be seen in courtrooms; you’re witnessing a man so mighty lose his bravado. however, fortunately for him, he’s been taught to keep his composure regardless of surprises and bad-tempered clients. his smile comes back, even brighter and clearer than ever.

“you’ll do no such thing.”

but he seems to forget he’s hired to tell you what you have done in the past, truth or not. what a shame he doesn’t get a say on your future. the audacity is laughable, at most, and you can’t help but wonder who he really thinks he is.

your unbothered expression digs deeper into his smile. patience is one of his very best qualities, and you’re squeezing every drop out of it.

“try it,” he says, “I won’t be the one regretting that.” his bluff doesn’t scare you, not at first, but he’s not done there. “I can assure you my colleague won’t be able to get you out of harm, if anything, I’ll be making sure there are more witnesses, more information, would they be able to handle it?” he takes a breath, “think wisely; you can take it as a piece of advice, and I won’t charge you for just this once.”

his threats aren’t very fitting for a good lawyer. they’re not subtle. he’s not beating around the bush just for the sake of his reputation like his peers. it’s piercing through your skin, and you don’t know if he cares about ethics, or his career, even the fact that he’s willingly telling you he will break the law.

but he’s already showed that. your mouth goes dry, not that your words seem to matter to him anyway.

You hadn’t meant for it to be anything. You hadn’t meant for it to…mean anything.

A conversation in the smoking area after a mission, a laugh over convenience-store beer, hands brushing as you both reached for the lighter. Just another colleague trying to take the edge off. 

But Makima noticed. She always noticed.

When it came to you, nothing, absolutely nothing, ever went amiss.

That’s why, when she invited you to her apartment a few nights later, unease pricked under the warmth of her smile. 

You’d been to other officers’ homes before—grimy little flats, cluttered and boyish—but hers felt like a showroom: tatami mats so even they looked ironed, a low black table gleaming like lacquer, every book spine aligned by height and color. 

Even the air smelled arranged: faint green tea, polished wood, the soft musk of her dogs. They sprawled at her feet in a perfect semicircle, watching you with placid eyes.

Makima poured wine with a steady hand, the pale liquid catching the lamplight as she tilted the bottle. “You’ve been working hard,” she said, sliding the glass toward you. “You deserve a moment to breathe.”

Her voice had a way of making everything feel simple. You sipped, trying to relax, but your eyes kept drifting across the room. 

That was when you saw it.

A canvas bag. Large, zippered, tucked against the far wall beside a low cabinet.

Maybe just luggage, or a gear bag. You might have ignored it completely if it hadn’t…moved. 

Just once, a subtle sag and shift, as though whatever was inside had twitched in its sleep.

The hair rose on your arms. You blinked, glanced back at Makima. She was still smiling at you, tilting her head slightly, waiting for you to speak.

“Makima,” you said quietly, “what’s in—” “Don’t look at it.” The words were gentle but absolute. She didn’t even glance toward the corner. “It’ll only upset you.”

You tried to laugh. The sound came out thin. “Is that…a Devil?”

Her smile softened, almost pitying. “Something like that.” She refilled your glass before you’d even finished the first. “Drink. You’re shaking.”

The scrape came again. A faint, muffled thud against the floorboards. You stared at the bag until your vision swam.

Makima’s hand slid over yours, cool and steady. “You’ve been spending time with someone,” she said. Not a question. Her thumb traced small circles into your skin. “Someone who doesn’t understand you like I do.”

Your heart dropped. “You mean—” “They were going to pull you away from me.” Her tone didn’t change. She might have been discussing weather patterns. “I couldn’t allow that. You’re too important.”

Another thud. Softer this time. A weak groan, muffled by canvas.

You flinched. Makima tilted her head, finally sparing the bag a glance. The smile she gave it was small, almost indulgent. “They wouldn’t listen,” she said. “But don’t worry. I’m teaching them.”

The wine burned going down. You set the glass back on the table, but your hand trembled too much to release it. She steadied it for you, fingers curling over yours like a hinge. Her eyes glimmered like candlelight. Gentle, endless, impossible to look away from…

“You’re different,” she murmured. “You’ll listen. You’ll stay where you belong.”

The bag shuddered once more and fell silent. Makima stood, and circled close behind you. She leaned in until her hair brushed your cheek, her voice lowering to a heated breath against your ear.

“Shh. Don’t be afraid. That sound won’t last much longer.” She stroked your hair back, so affectionate it almost broke you. “After tonight, it’ll just be us. No one else. Ever again.”

The dogs hadn’t moved. They were still watching you, breathing in perfect unison, as if waiting for your decision. 

A decision that felt impossible. A decision…with only one correct answer…

You wince. With those six simple words, he’s put an end to this sorry charade. The response it triggers is immediate. Your tongue prepares excuses aplenty, some believable, others painfully obvious in their deceitful nature. You swallow them all, feeling how they scrape down your throat like tacks. There’s no delaying the inevitable, especially when it’s at your front door, which you left agape, tempting fate. 

“I am,” you affirm. 

After such a declaration, one would think the world would fall silent. 

It doesn’t. 

The two of you are situated on a weathered bench in the park. You’re on the left, whereas he’s on the right. Kids squeal in delight behind you, likely playing tag, from the snippets you overhear. A flock of birds takes off, disliking the hubbub from the ragtag youth. Faintly, you discern a wild creek, engorged from a bout of rain. 

In the cinema, these moments would be accompanied by some shift. A score in the minor key, the lens going out of focus, those sorts of dramaturgical details. Real life is peculiar in its normalcy. You feel like you’re bracing yourself for a blow that won’t ever come. Not in the way you’re expecting it, the way that’d see you vindicated and liberated. 

“I see,” Johan places a hand to his chin. He pauses, mulling over his next words as if he hadn’t decided on them the instant you nervously asked to talk. “I can’t convince you to reconsider?” 

It’s an oddly worded question. You know Johan to be eloquent, not in a grandiose manner, but by exercising subtlety and cunning. You analyze his words, as if panning for gold. What strikes you is his nonchalance. There’s a gap between what you expected and how he’s actually conducting himself. Did you overestimate how much you mean to him? 

Or is there something else at play here…? 

Plagued by uncertainty, you opt for a risky move: unprecedented boldness. 

“Nothing can change my mind.” 

Johan smiles. You’ve never found an inoffensive gesture so disconcerting. 

“Was my acting inadequate?” 

Until now, you’ve avoided direct eye contact, as if he were a gorgon beneath his Adonis exterior. This unusual utterance prompts you to abandon this precaution. Hurt ripples along your face like a stone skipped across still waters. You immediately regret showing vulnerability. The skin beneath his eyes creases, his closed-mouth smile deepening at what you’ve unwittingly betrayed. 

“Ah. That was cruel of me,” he muses. You break out into a cold sweat. “I can’t fault your decision. I’m not an ideal partner.” 

You’ve heard of these developments before from friends. Breakups accrue all sorts of horror stories, from inducing guilt to downright torment. This almost falls into the former category, but not quite. It’s spoken like a foregone conclusion. If he incorporated a bit more pathos, you may have fallen for it, yet that’s not what this is. He has a different, cryptic objective. Knowledge has always been an underlying currency in your relationship. The disparity between you is immense, but that’s never stopped you from trying to balance the scales.

Not even now. 

“You should sound a bit more genuine when saying something like that.” 

“Perhaps, but that would be an insult to you, wouldn’t it?” he tilts his head. Sunlight lends a regal mien to his hair, the golden locks like a crown, or destiny’s threads. “You’ve glimpsed the man behind the curtain. I won’t use parlor tricks to distract from that.” 

You don’t know what to make of this ill-begotten respect. 

“Yet you could’ve,” you point out what he’s left unspoken. 

He nods.

Most will blunder through this life, lacking a modicum of the self-awareness he fully embraces. You think that may be for the best. What you’re staring at is an anomaly, wearing flesh and pantomiming humanity. His only flaw was how immaculately he performed. Even his ‘faults’ felt calculated, like rehearsed lines creating the conflict necessary for a plot to go on. 

As if sensing your thoughts, he says, “You’ve inspired whatever fondness I’m capable of experiencing.” 

Then, like an afterthought, “Does that make you feel better or worse?” 

“Worse; don’t act dense. You wouldn’t have said it otherwise.”

His eyes seem impossibly bright, like the morning sky before a tragedy. “I’m in good company, then. And here I thought we were being honest with one another.” 

“We are—” you’re quick to correct yourself, “Or at least I am.” 

“You were relieved to hear my affection wasn’t an act.” 

You bite your lip at his accusation. There’s no refuting something so obvious, embarrassing as it might be. He chuckles, the sound soft and grating. You’ve never succeeded in bringing him off balance for long. If anything, you’re suspicious that he only gave the impression of faltering, though you struggled to understand why. 

Perhaps he just likes your touch, regardless of whether your intention is destructive or not. 

“With that in mind…” he trails off, scooting closer to you on the bench, “I’ll try encouraging you to reconsider, anyway.” 

“And if your pretty words don’t work?” you try, feigning bravado that you both know you’re utterly lacking. 

Johan’s response is instantaneous — an indication that this chapter of pretending is permanently closed.