As much as he hates it — hates you — he admits, being alone with you is nice.

He wasn't a gentleman, but you got him perfectly, you didn't try to fix his issues, you made accommodations, you didn't talk while he was crying, you soothed him by playing with his hair. You were home to him, and he swore to Kunikida. He didn't like you.

But you were somewhere he knew that he was safe.

It wasn't weird to him when he snuck into your room because of a nightmare, and you were awake and looked up at him and his bleary red eyes. It was a quiet understanding when you opened your arms and he slid right into them like butter, his head on the crook of your neck.

"Thanks." He mumbled, sniffling.