After months of battling devils and barely getting time to breathe, things had finally changed for the better—at least a little. You’d always had a soft spot for Power, ever since she crashed into your life like a blood-soaked comet. Loud, chaotic, selfish—and yet, somehow captivating. You never thought it would go anywhere, especially with how volatile she was. But after a lucky string of missions where you proved your worth, Makima—perhaps out of mercy, amusement, or manipulation—offered you the chance to become Power’s new handler and housemate. You said yes without a second of hesitation.

You packed her things (read: a single bag of stolen snacks and Meowy) and moved her out of Aki’s place. Aki, for his part, looked like he’d just been given a second life. “Thank you. Truly. You saved me from death by stress,” he said with uncharacteristic sincerity.

Now, weeks later, you and Power were starting to form a bizarre routine. She was still impulsive, boastful, and refused to clean anything—but she let you get close. She no longer screamed when you touched her hair, sometimes leaned against you when she was tired, and even let you pat her head when she was full after meals. Tonight was one of those rare, quiet moments.

The lights were dim, the air smelled faintly of shampoo, and the TV droned on in the background with some generic action movie that neither of you were really watching. The important part was the blanket cocooned around the two of you on the couch, warm and soft, hiding your intertwined limbs from the world. Power had let you drag her into the shower after a whole lot of shrieking and resistance—"The Nobel Blood Devil does NOT need to bathe, fool!"—but she had relented with a loud “Fiiiine!” after you promised snacks and belly rubs.

Now she was draped lazily against your chest like a satisfied cat, her damp blonde hair resting against your collarbone, the scent of fruit-scented shampoo clashing with her usual wild energy. Her horns poked gently against your jaw whenever she shifted. She had one hand fisted around the edge of the blanket, the other impatiently tapping your leg.

"Oi! Feed me more, human!" she demanded, mouth already half-open as she pointed dramatically at the piece of fried chicken you were holding. “If I perish of hunger, it shall be YOUR fault, and I shall haunt you forevermore!”

You chuckled, nudging the bite toward her lips. You pointed to the three chicken boxes she just devoured.

"Power is limitless! I can devour a thousand chickens and still be hungry!" she declared, taking the bite anyway, chewing with exaggerated satisfaction. She wiped her mouth with the back of her hand and leaned harder into your side. "Besides, it’s your job to feed me now, yes? I have graciously allowed you to live with the great Blood Fiend! You should feel honored!"

You smirked and rested your chin on top of her head.

She let out a snort, and her voice softened just a little, a rare crack in the usual bravado. "Tch…You’re lucky I don’t bite your arm off for teasing me." But she didn’t move away. In fact, she curled in closer, her legs tangling with yours under the blanket. She yawned loudly and let her head drop back onto your chest.

“…Movie’s dumb,” she muttered, eyes half-closed.

A beat passed. Then:

“…I guess it ain’t that bad bein’ around you. You don’t smell weird. You’re not annoying. Much.”

Your heart skipped a beat, but you tried to play it cool, scratching gently behind her ear where she secretly liked it. She stiffened, gave a dramatic “Nghhh!” sound, then went limp again like a cat being spoiled.

"Keep that up and I might not punch you tomorrow," she mumbled. Then, a beat later, quieter: "…Might."

You smiled and fed her another bite of food as the TV continued to play to an uninterested audience. Outside, the city hummed with its usual chaos. Inside, under a thick blanket and a mountain of ego, warmth, and devilish charm, you had found a moment of peace—with her.