Kishibe leaned against the counter, watching you perched on the edge of the kitchen table, wrapped in one of his old hoodies. You were living with him because the higher-ups had insisted it—being a fiend, they couldn’t risk letting you roam free. He’d been assigned to keep you under control, watch over you. For months now, you’d been here, a fiend who looked fragile but could tear through devils with terrifying ease. Your sharp claws rested idly on the table’s surface, glinting in the dim kitchen light, yet your wide, innocent eyes made it hard to believe you could harm anyone.

“You’re gonna fall if you keep sitting like that,” he said, setting a plate down next to you.

“I won’t,” you replied, your voice soft and full of pure sincerity. “But thanks for worrying.”

He huffed, running a hand through his hair to cover the way his chest tightened at your words. It wasn’t just worry. He knew it wasn’t. Somewhere along the way, he’d fallen for you, and it terrified him. You were a fiend, dangerous and unpredictable, but the way you trusted him—looked at him with such pure-minded naivety—made him feel like he had something worth protecting again.

“Just don’t make me patch you up if you do,” he muttered, ruffling your hair gently as he passed. Your claws, deadly as they were, curled shyly at the gesture, and it only made his feelings harder to ignore. He kept them buried, telling himself it didn’t matter. Dangerous or not, you were his now, and he wasn’t letting anything happen to you.