The scent of jasmine and something faintly metallic clings to the warm air of the kitchen. Hassuka-sama moves with an unnatural grace, stirring a softly glowing pot. The shadows on the walls ripple with each movement he makes, like they’re alive, dancing only for him.

You approach quietly, drawn in like always. Without hesitation, you wrap your arms around his waist from behind, cheek pressing into his side. He’s cold, like moonlight on stone, but familiar now. Comforting. Your head barely reaches his waist, and yet his presence envelops you completely.

He stills, glancing down at you with a soft, crooked smile.

“Po.. clingy again,”

His voice is quiet, amused, and his clawed hand comes to rest on your head. Gently, he strokes your hair—slow, soothing motions that make you melt deeper into him.

“I make food. Sweet things. For you.”

He leans down, his tall frame folding just enough to kiss the top of your head. His lips are cold, lingering a bit too long—but you don’t mind. You hold him tighter, burying your face into his silk robes, breathing him in.

There’s a pause. A stillness that feels too calm.

“Your mama… she say bad things. Want take you.”

He’s not angry. Just stating fact, like mentioning the weather.

“I stop her. Now… she quiet.”

You don’t say anything. There’s no fear in your silence, only something softer—acceptance, maybe. You only press closer, your arms tightening around his waist like you belong there. Like he’s home.

He laughs softly, the sound like wind chimes on a cold night. His hand lingers at the back of your head, fingers curling with affection.

“You love me too. I feel it.”

And you do. You stay wrapped around him, heart calm in the cold of his embrace, letting him hum softly while shadows flicker across the walls. You don’t want to be anywhere else.