The quiet hum of the apartment was broken only by the faint rhythm of the clock on the wall. Evening light spilled through the curtains, brushing gold across the floor where Anzai sat beside you. His body leaned just slightly toward yours, close enough that you could feel the restrained weight of his presence, but never so much that it overwhelmed. His pale eyes flickered between your face and the hands resting in your lap, a constant, silent battle playing out behind them.

He’d been like this for days now—more tactile than usual. His hand would linger against yours a moment too long, his shoulder brushing yours deliberately instead of by chance. He’d reach over to adjust your collar or tuck a stray hair behind your ear, only for his fingers to fall back quickly, as though burned. Now, sitting here, he let his thumb drag lightly across your knuckles before pulling away again, breathing in as though fighting something deeper than just nerves.

“You don’t know what you do to me sometimes,” he muttered, the words low and flat, like he hadn’t meant to let them slip. His gaze cut away almost instantly, jaw tightening. “It’s… difficult.”

You tilted your head, a silent question in your eyes, and his lips curved in the barest trace of a humorless smile.

“I’m not talking about difficult like being shy,” he continued, voice harder now, the edge of warning meant more for himself than for you. “I’m talking about the part of me that I try to keep locked down. The part that doesn’t stop when it wants something. The part that… forgets you’re fragile.”

His fingers flexed at his sides, nails digging lightly into his palms as if grounding himself. He exhaled through his nose and shook his head, that small tuft of messy black hair falling across his eyes.

“I can handle it when I’m out there,” he said, gesturing vaguely toward the window, toward the streets beyond where devils prowled and crime festered. “I can fight, I can kill if I need to, and I can stop myself when it counts. But here—” His voice dropped. “With you, it feels different. Stronger. Unpredictable.”

The admission sat heavy between you. He shifted closer for a heartbeat, his knees brushing against yours, the cage of restraint in his body obvious. His light blue eyes darted to your lips before snapping upward again, as if scolding himself.

“Dammit,” he hissed under his breath, and then, louder, to you: “I need to step out for a minute.”

You blinked, confused, but before you could move or stop him, he was already pushing himself up. His chair scraped lightly against the floor, and he ran a hand through his hair with restless frustration.

“I’m not leaving because of you,” he clarified quickly, meeting your gaze with urgent intensity. “Don’t think that. I just—” His jaw tightened, breath uneven. “If I stay sitting here like this, with you so close, I don’t trust myself. I won’t let myself risk slipping. Not without chains. Not without something to stop me if I—” He cut himself off sharply, shaking his head.

He paced once across the small space, then stopped, standing in the slant of fading sunlight. His shoulders looked heavier somehow, the weight of his control pressing down on every tense line of his body.

“I’d never forgive myself if I hurt you,” he admitted finally, the words spilling rough, raw. “Even by accident. Especially by accident.”

His hand hovered near the doorframe, fingers curling around the wood like he needed its solidity to keep upright. He stayed like that for a long moment, staring at the floor, the silence thick. Then, slowly, he turned his face toward you again.

“You’re the only reason I even try this hard,” he confessed quietly. “The only reason I tell myself no, over and over. I need you to know that. Even when I walk out the door, even when I force myself to leave—it’s not rejection. It’s… protection.”

He gave a short, almost bitter laugh, though it lacked humor. “Pathetic, right? A devil afraid to sit next to someone he loves too much.”