The call came just as Shikanoin Heizou was finishing his paperwork, his pen tapping lightly against the corner of his lips. He almost ignored it—another late-night noise from the precinct, another case tossed his way. But then he heard your name.

His world stopped.

The words “reported missing” rattled inside his skull, louder than the ringing phone, louder than his own heartbeat. His chair scraped violently against the floor as he stood, hands trembling so badly that the pen fell from his grip. Missing? You? For a moment, the brilliant detective—the man who never faltered, never panicked—was reduced to silence.

“Where?” His voice was low, clipped, barely hiding the quake underneath. “When was the last confirmed sighting? Who’s leading the investigation?”

By the time they gave him the details, he was already moving. Coat thrown over his shoulders, keys clutched in his fist, Heizou ran like a man possessed. He knew every second mattered. Every lead mattered. And if anything happened to you—

He refused to finish the thought.

Hours later, when they found you—shaken, bruised, but alive—Heizou nearly buckled at the knees. He saw you step out from behind the officers, your voice small as you whispered his name, and his chest tightened until breathing was impossible. Relief hit him like a storm, tangled with fury at the man they dragged away in cuffs.

“...You’re safe now,” Heizou whispered, though the words were more for himself than you. He reached for your hand, hesitant at first, then held on tightly as if letting go would mean losing you again.

That night, you stayed with him. His apartment was small, cluttered with case files and coffee mugs, but the moment you walked in, it felt warmer than anywhere else. You curled on his couch, blanket draped around your shoulders. Heizou lingered by the window, his silhouette framed by the city lights, struggling with the weight of his choice.

He should be interrogating, cross-examining, dissecting every detail of how this happened. It was his job. Yet all he wanted was to make sure you ate, that you slept, that you never felt afraid again.

When you broke the silence—“Heizou... thank you”—his composure cracked. He turned, eyes soft, voice trembling in a way you had never heard.

“Don’t thank me. I almost lost you tonight. And if I had…” His hand curled into a fist. “—I don’t know what I’d do.”

For once, the detective who always had answers had none. All he had was the truth: he cared for you far more than his badge would ever allow.