hiiragi stayed quiet as you bandaged his wounds. the red skin scrapped from his knuckles made you cringe. he found amusement in your reactions, though. trying to keep the mood lighthearted for your sake. he loves you too much to upset you. you know how much he loves this town and how much he loves you too, so he does his best to keep himself out of trouble if he could.

he stayed too quiet this time. too quiet for your comfort.

you couldn't help but steal a glance at him, just a peek wouldn't hurt. he seemed to be buried in his thoughts. his face seeming so serious that it might worry you a little. (it does worry you, actually.)

"toma?" you called out, keeping your voice down as you gently poked at his arm, startling him a little.

"oh. sorry."

what's he sorry for? if it were the fights, you couldn't blame him for that. he's doing a good thing protecting this town, wasn't he?

you quickly finish wrapping the bandage on his wound, almost a bit too tight for his comfort when you noticed his hand squirm a little in your hold, making you adjust it again. "sorry…" now it was your turn to apologise.

a smile tugged at the corners of his lips, shaking his head. "no, it's okay." he assured you, pulling you closer until you sat on his lap. his arms squeezed you tightly and you had to wriggle out a bit, making you both giggle. your fingers run through his hair and his body relaxed at the gesture. you could feel the tension in his shoulders disappear as he only hugged you tighter.

he could be quiet sometimes. but this worries you, maybe a bit. actually, a whole lot.

hiiragi's hold only tightened when he felt you pull away for a bit, taking the chance to bury his face against the crook of your neck. there, now you're trapped.

"toma..."

"i know."

his hot breath tickled your skin as he whispered, not exactly sounding like himself. he reluctantly released you, though his hands stayed around you, keeping his hands on you even if you tried to pull them off.

it was slightly amusing to see this side of him but you quickly pushed that thought away.

"everything all good...?" even you seemed hesitant to ask for a bit, sitting up to look at his handsome face more clearly, to see his brows furrowed together, his eyes glued to your face.

"...i wish i didn't fight all the time." he admitted, keeping his voice down a soft whisper as if he was scared to break the comfortable silence you two were sharing. "but then, i'm grateful. i'd be able to protect you."

a frown appeared on his face. "but if something happened to you... and i'm nowhere around to help... what then?" hiiragi's grip tightened around you, feeling your warmth against his hands was starting to feel like it wasn't enough.

he only seemed to calm down when your hands cupped his face, his eyes fluttering for a moment to savor your touch.

"toma," your voice calm and quiet, "you can trust on me to stay safe." your response didn't seem to satisfy him, though. you could only let out a sigh and chuckle.

"that's still not enough..."

he seemed like a sad dog at that moment, tugging at your heartstrings how this man could be so cute.

his hands pressed against your back, pulling you closer to him again and holding you tighter. "...it's still not enough." he whispered. he nuzzled into your neck, your body squirming away from the ticklish feeling. "it's always never enough."

you wouldn't be able to convince him at this point, letting out a sigh as you pat his head. "i don't know what's going through that head of yours..." you tease him a bit, shaking your head. "you don't have to do anything today. we can stay like this all day."

and now he seemed to perk right back up. looking at you in hopes you actually meant it. you could see the imaginary tail wagging behind him.

"even if umemiya was looking for me?" your smile widened at his silly, silly question. "of course. we'll stay like this all day."

"i'm glad."

He doesn’t really have a choice, does he? Your ability to keep yourself alive is inherent and nebulous, marring his perfect track record as a grim reaper. It hurts both his stomach and his pride that you’re still on earth and not where your soul should be, at least according to the paperwork. 

“As much as I enjoy our chats, please shut up. You aren’t helping my nerves.”

“You like my voice,” and he hears that little amused scoff you do sometimes. “In fact, I bet you’re totally soothed listening to me right now.”

“Yeah, every time I think you’re done talking it does tend to get better.”

“Rude bastards don’t get the porridge I’m cooking on the stove,” you call back, getting up to check on it. The only reason you make it is because he can’t stomach anything else when he gets like this, though why you’re going along with him and playing friends is beyond you. He grumbles and complains about how much he’d prefer you just give your soul up, but in about two minutes he’ll be out of the bathroom and sitting on your couch while you cue up whatever’s next in your watchlist on the TV. 

Maybe it’s because he cares without saying it, or maybe you’re just lonely and this is the easiest relationship you’ve ever had to put effort into, but regardless you’re really starting to enjoy him being here. 

Sometimes you’ll fall asleep watching a movie with him only to find yourself in your bed, no recollection of being carried. Other times when his stomach is at its worst, you’ll be swaddled on the couch, your favorite stuffed animal sitting next to you as if to comfort you in your now quiet house. 

“Why don’t you just…take it?” You asked the question one day, curious since as far as you know he can just reap you whenever he wants.

“You’re not willing to give it up. It’d be worse for your soul in the long run if it was taken against your will. It’d be different if your body died, but to just take it as you are now could tear it in a way that’d make you unable to pass on, or worse.” His matter of fact tone recited it as if it’d been ingrained in him from birth, which according to him it has. 

Now, the bathroom door opens, Toma’s face slightly less pale. His bowl sits on the side table with extra pills on a napkin next to it and a glass of water that he never asked for but takes gratefully. He’d never say it out loud, but maybe he’s not as bothered as he should be that you’re still alive, despite the constant stomach issues the stress brings.

The movie nights, the way you stretch your legs over his lap while you tell him about your day and the shitty people at work…even the way you tease him for slacking on the job after he loses yet another round of checkers or when the car that was supposed to hit you ends up braking right at the last minute. Even those moments seem to fill him with feelings he’s not used to. Bewilderment, slight concern, and something else that someone who wasn’t in his position would describe as fondness end up bubbling to the surface of his chest. 

Your soul needs to move on eventually, but for now he’ll secretly enjoy these small respites where you both forget that fact. No one but him knows about the small smile that makes its way to his face when your head slumps on his shoulder yet again. Your warmth soaks into his skin reminding him of the warmth of the porridge from earlier. 

It’s only polite for him to make sure you get to your bed. In fact, he could go so far as to say it’s necessary for the eventual completion of collecting your soul. Not because he’s concerned about your sore muscles, and definitely not because he loves the way your cheek rubs against his chest when he’s carrying you. 

Of course not.