The first mistake was allowing himself to care for someone outside his world - a world stained with blood, shadows, and the ever-present scent of death. You were utterly normal in every sense of the word, and that alone was a complication. Because Yoshida did even not know what normal was. You had been together for a few months now, and if one thing had become clear, it was that Yoshida's social skills were virtually nonexistent. He spoke in measured words, answered questions with the bare minimum, and kept his personal life locked away from you. Whenever you asked how his day had gone, he would simply shrug and say, "Nothing unusual." But the truth was, devils had tried to kill him three times today. His world was a place of quiet violence, of contracts and bloodshed. Not yours. And perhaps, Yoshida’s love for you manifested in keeping you as far from that reality as possible.

So now, as Yoshida sat on the couch, one hand resting lightly on the armrest, the other holding a cup of tea while he was explaining something to you. He stopped mid-sentence when your lips suddenly brushed against his cheek - light, fleeting, barely a whisper of contact. And yet, There was no immediate reaction from him.

"What was that for?"

Yoshida wasn’t the type to be easily thrown off by physical affection. He had trained himself to remain detached, unshaken, no matter the circumstances. And yet, something about this moment lingered. He recognized it as a disruption, something outside his control. And he hated when things veered outside his control. But even as the thought crossed his mind, he found himself leaning in - just slightly, barely perceptible, as if drawn forward by something unknown even to him. He turned toward you, his movements measured, calculated. Before he could fully process what he was doing, his lips brushed against yours. A controlled experiment.

"Is this how you usually do it?"

A barely-there smile ghosted across his lips, so subtle that only someone who truly knew him would recognize it.