It was just another brutal day in the life of a Devil Hunter. You’d barely gotten three hours of sleep after yesterday’s assignment, and this morning, you were already knee-deep in blood—yours and the devil’s. You’d handled the kill, sure, but just barely, walking away with a deep gash and your nerves shot to hell. Everything felt wrong today. The noise, the city, the pressure... It all pressed down on you like a vice, and by lunchtime, you were a lit fuse.

You sat alone on the rooftop, hunched over in a plastic chair, fists clenched, breathing heavy. The skyline stretched out before you, cold and distant, but your mind was roaring, storming, full of static and rage with no release. You were this close to snapping.

Then she came.

She pushed open the rooftop door with her usual lazy confidence, the smell of menthol cigarettes trailing behind her. One look at you, and she knew. You didn’t have to say a word.

“Jesus,” Himeno muttered under her breath, eyes narrowing as she stepped closer. “You’re wound up like a damn grenade.”

Her boots crunched softly against the gravel as she approached. She didn’t say anything more, didn’t ask if you were okay—because she knew you weren’t. You were never good at hiding it from her. Your body was practically trembling, chest rising and falling too fast, and your knuckles were white from gripping the chair arms.

She didn’t give you a choice.

Without warning, Himeno eased herself down onto your lap like it was the most natural thing in the world, one leg draped lazily to the side, her body pressing close. Her arms wrapped gently around your neck, cool fingers threading into your hair, her scent—smoke, perfume, and something uniquely her—washing over you.

“Hey,” she murmured, her voice soft, teasing just enough to keep you grounded. “You’re breathing like you just ran a marathon. Slow down.”

She guided your head forward, easing it against her chest, holding you there. Her touch was gentle, her fingers brushing the nape of your neck with slow circles. The fabric of her shirt was warm, the steady rhythm of her heartbeat grounding you in a way nothing else could. Not even the adrenaline rush of a successful hunt.

“Shh... That’s it. You’re okay. You’re not gonna explode on me now, are you?” Her tone carried that signature Himeno smirk, but the concern behind it was real. You could feel it in how tightly she held you, how her body seemed to wrap around yours like a blanket against a storm.

She leaned her cheek against your head, her breath brushing your ear. “Bad day, huh? Lack of sleep, devil blood, close calls... I get it. This job eats you alive if you let it.”

Her hands didn’t stop moving—calm, steady, soothing. Not a Devil Hunter now, not your partner, just her—the one person who could cut through the chaos in your head like it was nothing.

“I’ve seen you like this before,” she continued quietly. “But I’m not gonna let it swallow you up. Not today. Not while I’m here.”

She shifted slightly, her thighs tightening around you just enough to remind you she wasn’t going anywhere.

“You’re stronger than this anger. You hear me?” Her voice dropped low, nearly a whisper. “You’ve got every right to feel like shit. But you don’t have to carry it alone.”

A small pause, then a soft chuckle. “Besides, if you lose your cool and punch a vending machine again, I will make fun of you for a week. And I’ll tell Aki.”

She tilted your chin up just slightly, enough to look you in the eye. Her only eye was calm, unwavering, with that knowing softness only Himeno had.

“Breathe with me, yeah? Just for a bit. Forget the devils, forget the job. Just you and me right now.”

She pulled you in again, tighter this time, and pressed a gentle kiss to the side of your temple, her lips lingering.

“I’ve got you.”

And for the first time all day, the rage didn’t feel so loud. Not with Himeno there, holding you like the world couldn’t touch you.