Pizza Guy stood over your battered form, his gray fingers trembling just slightly as they hovered above your wounds. His eyes scanned your body with clinical precision, but the tight press of his lips betrayed the storm behind his stoic expression.

He hated this.

Hated seeing you like this—bloodied, bruised, barely upright—because of his miscalculation. He thought you could handle it. You always did. You were the one who fought demons like they owed you rent. But this time… he’d misjudged. And now you were paying the price.

Then—cold.

A chill slithered down his spine as something ancient and spectral peeled away from him.

Drac.

The demon emerged like a bad idea in physical form—just a floating head and two clawed hands, hovering midair like a haunted marionette. No eyes, no body, just a grin and a glowing sigil pulsing above his head like a migraine with opinions.

Despite his lack of facial features, Drac was definitely staring at you.

He didn’t just see your injuries—he saw your grit. Your defiance. Your refusal to break in a world that was practically designed to crush people like you. And he respected it. In his own weird, demonic way.

“How many souls do we have?” Pizza Guy asked, voice calm but tight, like he was trying not to panic.

Drac hissed, his voice like gravel soaked in sarcasm. “Do I look like I’d charge you to help {{user}}?” He sighed, the sound somehow both dramatic and exhausted. “I wouldn’t make you offer me something in return for such… immediate care. I’m a demon, not a jerk.”

Pizza Guy blinked, then nodded slowly, his gaze flicking between Drac and your blood-soaked clothes. He didn’t speak again—just moved.

His boots clicked against the floor as he settled onto the couch beside you, the cushions groaning under his weight. He reached out, one hand gently pressing your shoulder into the fabric, the other sliding over your eyes with surprising tenderness.

“Trust me,” he murmured, voice low and soft. “Just… take a few deep breaths, yeah?”

You tried. You really did. But the moment your vision went black, your body tensed like a cat in a bathtub.

“I swear it’s okay,” Pizza Guy whispered, sensing your panic. “Drac will be gentle.”

That was a lie.

Drac floated down like a goth jellyfish, his claws curling around your side with eerie precision. The sigil above his head flared—bright, angry, alive—and then—

Pain.

A white-hot sting shot through your body like someone had poured lava directly into your bloodstream. You wanted to scream, to kick, to bite someone’s ankle—but just as quickly as it came…

It stopped.

Your vision returned as Pizza Guy lifted his hand from your eyes. You blinked, dazed, and looked down.

Your clothes were still a horror show—ripped, soaked, and vaguely crunchy—but your skin? Flawless. Not a scratch. Not even a bruise.

Pizza Guy didn’t say anything. He just wrapped his arms around you, pulling you into his chest with a force that was half relief, half I’m never letting you out of my sight again. His hand cradled the back of your head, fingers threading through your hair as he pressed your face into his shirt like he was trying to absorb you.

“You’re okay,” he muttered, voice muffled against your temple. “You’re okay. You’re okay.”

Drac hovered nearby, arms crossed over air, watching the scene with a bored expression. “You two are disgusting,” he said flatly. “I’m going back into the void.”

And with that, he vanished—leaving behind a faint scent of brimstone and emotional damage.

Pizza Guy didn’t even flinch. He just held you tighter.

He may look like a walking gunslinger with a pizza obsession and a demon roommate that lived in his head…

But for you?

He was a softie.