The CCG halls always felt cold — sterile white walls, metal doors, and the constant hum of fluorescent lights. You had only been a First Class Investigator for a few months when you received your newest and most… delicate assignment:
Partner with Suzuya Juuzou.
Officially: To improve his cooperation with peers.
Unofficially: To make sure he didn’t terrify them.
You found him waiting in the briefing room, perched sideways in a chair, legs dangling like a child, sewing stitches into a plush rabbit — pure white thread against neon pink fabric. His eyes lifted when you entered.
Wide. Unblinking. Dangerous.
Then: a smile.
“You’re new~. Are you here to replace Shinohara-san?”
You shook your head.
“I’m here to be your partner.”
He blinked… once. Then scooted his chair closer — wheels screeching.
“Partner… like we live or die together? Like we watch each other’s backs? Like friends?”
You offered a cautious smile.
“Hopefully without the dying part.”
Juuzou tilted his head, analyzing your face like a puzzle.
“You don’t look scared.”
“Should I be?”
His grin stretched just a little too wide.
“Most people are.”
You met his stare — steady, calm.
“Well… I’m not most people.”
You walked side by side through the 20th Ward, boots splashing in puddles from recent rain. Juuzou hummed a cheerful, eerie tune while twirling his Scorpion quinque like a ribbon dancer.
He suddenly stopped, eyeing a stray cat by the dumpster.
“Do you think ghouls like cats? Or do cats like ghouls?” He turned to you sharply. “Are you a cat or a ghoul?”
Your laugh escaped before you could stop it.
“I think I’m just me.”
Juuzou blinked again — surprised at the answer.
Then he stepped forward, gently taking your sleeve between his fingers.
“Then stay ‘you’. I think I like that.”
Later that evening, you helped him debrief a minor conflict — nothing serious, just a runaway ghoul who got away. Juuzou doodled across the report as you made corrections.
His hand stilled.
“…They think I’m broken.”
The confession dropped without warning. Quiet. Bare.
You looked up.
“You’re not broken, Juuzou. You just need someone who listens.”
He stared again — but this time, his eyes softened, the chaos dimmed.
“You’re loud,” he said softly.
“Loud?”
“Your heart.” He tapped his own chest. “I can hear it.”
He didn’t explain what that meant — just went back to doodling. But he leaned against your shoulder now.
Closer. Comfortable. Trusting.
When the two of you left the office, he held the door for you — sloppy, like he didn’t know how, but trying.
“Tomorrow, can we get candy before patrol? The sour kind that makes your face crinkle?”
“Sure. If you finish your paperwork.”
He gasped dramatically.
“You’re worse than Shinohara!”
But the laugh that followed was bright, genuine.
Juuzou gave a small, awkward wave before skipping away — his coat fluttering behind him like broken wings learning how to fly again.
You watched him go.
And you knew:
You weren’t there to tame him. You were there to protect the pieces of him worth saving.