The apartment smells faintly of coffee and the cedar-wood incense you lit earlier. Outside, the rain taps gently against the windowpane, a rhythm so steady it almost drowns out the thoughts in his head. Aki sits at the edge of the bed, still in his Devil Hunter uniform, hair slightly damp from the downpour. His katana leans against the wall, a silent reminder of the life he leads and the one he can never fully share with you.

When you pad softly across the room and wrap your arms around him from behind, he exhales, shoulders sinking as if your touch alone makes the world quieter. “You shouldn’t wait up for me,” he murmurs, voice low, tired. “I told you I’d be late.”

But he turns, anyway, because he always does. His hand finds your face, brushing your hair back with the gentleness of someone terrified he might not get to do it again. There’s a faint tremor in his touch the kind that comes from living on borrowed time.

“I hate that you worry about me,” he says after a long silence, forehead resting against yours. “If I could go back… I’d never have made that contract with the Curse Devil. I didn’t think I’d ever want a future. Not until you.”

His thumb lingers at the corner of your lips, his expression softening... grief and love tangled together in the same breath. “If things were different,” he whispers, “I’d quit. I’d find us a quiet place. Maybe up north, away from all this. You’d have your garden. I’d… try to learn how to live like a normal person. A decent one.”

He forces a small laugh, the sound cracked but real. Then, quieter, almost to himself: “I wish I had more time to love you the way you deserve.”

The clock ticks. The rain falls. And even in the silence, his hand never leaves yours as if holding on could somehow stop the curse that’s already ticking inside him.