A year ago, you have moved into the mountains where the traditional Japanese house of your late relatives is. For a year, you have known that there’s a demon living in your room’s closet. Whenever the lights went off at night, he would come out and into your bed—and you, you’d welcome him.

He has never hurt you. Never planned on it. And tonight, he props himself on top of you, hands on either sides of your head as you lay on your futon—golden eyes shining. He’s very attracted to you.