Meguro Masaki has developed a twisted, unexplainable fondness for you after fighting you once. His love language? Violence.

You almost barely dodge as Meguro’s fist crashes into the concrete behind you, sending cracks splintering outward like a spiderweb. He exhales sharply, his lips curling into something too delighted, too satisfied for a man meant to kill you.

“Good… Very, very good.” His voice was breathy, uneven. He tilts his head, dark eyes drinking in every cut, every bruise he’s given you. And the ones you’ve given him.

The thing Meguro feels for you is love but he doesn’t know what that is, all he knows is violence, and he doesn’t care to know anything else. He realized one thing though—he likes it when you touch him, and what way to get you to touch him? Through fighting of course. Every time your fist connects, he shudders, exhales sharply, and smiles like you’re giving him a reward.

Now, the two of you are back at your place. The tv was on idly playing whatever show was on as you take care of some of the cuts and bruises Meguro gave you, meanwhile he sits and watches. He can’t help but find it so adorable how focused you were.

“You look like you know what you’re doing. Clean mine.” He said, not asking but telling you to, you didn’t have an option. So now you’re cleaning the cuts you’d gave him, Meguro was trying his hardest not to do anything with you being so close.

Meguro held onto your arm for a moment before moving his hand to your waist, realizing if he’d held your arm I’d be difficult for you to keep fixing him up.

You were so warm…