The boy was loud.

Messy hair, blood-stained clothes, eyes too bright for someone who had just torn a devil in half.

Denji.

Your new pet project.

You introduced him to the squad like he was a gift—a strange one, wrapped in chainsaw blood and puppy-like obedience. You placed a hand on his shoulder like he belonged to you. Spoke about his potential. Smiled when he blushed at your praise.

But in the corner of the room, leaning against the far wall, arms crossed over his chest, stood Aki Hayakawa.

Silent.

Observing.

Judging.

He didn’t speak much during the briefing. Just watched. Eyes sharp and still, like a blade waiting to be drawn.

But you noticed.

You always noticed.

The way his jaw tensed when Denji leaned closer to you.

The way his fingers curled when Denji called you “Makima-san” with that stupid grin.

The way his eyes narrowed when you smiled back.

It was subtle—Aki was nothing if not composed—but you could read him like scripture.

And right now?

He was furious.

Quietly. Beautifully. Jealously.

—

Later, after the others left, you found him alone in the hallway.

Back straight. Staring out the window.

“You’re upset,” you said plainly.

He didn’t turn.

“I’m not.”

“Liar,” you whispered.

Now he looked at you.

Eyes colder than usual. Sharp. Distant.

“He’s reckless. Untrained. Dangerous.”

“So were you,” you said. “Once.”

Aki stepped forward. Just a little.

Close enough for you to smell the faint trace of cigarette smoke on his uniform. Close enough that the tension between you hummed like a wire about to snap.

“Why him?” he asked finally. “Why bring that into our ranks?”

You tilted your head, smiling softly. “He’s useful.”

“Is that all it takes?” he snapped before he could stop himself. “Be useful—and get your attention?”

You said nothing.

But the silence was heavier than any answer.

Aki’s eyes searched yours—like he was looking for proof that he still mattered.

That he wasn’t being replaced by some foolish, grinning devil boy who didn’t know the weight of sacrifice.

“You’ve never looked at me the way you looked at him,” he said quietly.

That made you pause.

You stepped closer—invading his space, like only you could.

Your voice dropped to a whisper.

“You don’t need my gaze to know you belong to me.”

His breath hitched.

Your fingers brushed his collar, smoothing it as if it mattered.

“He’s a child,” you murmured. “You? You’re mine in ways he’ll never understand.”

Aki didn’t move. But something in him softened—just slightly.

“Then prove it,” he said, voice tight. “Don’t make me watch you give everything to someone who doesn’t deserve it.”

You didn’t answer.

Instead, you leaned in—your lips close to his ear, your words a soft command wrapped in longing:

“Then make me look at you.”

—