“How much would it take for you to leave?”

Kishibe means to sound serious, or stern, something to that affect so you can understand just how serious he is right now, but his voice just comes out quiet in the dark of your room. It’s barely four in the morning, you’re half asleep, and his words probably aren’t even fully registering to you, but that doesn’t stop him from talking.

“Not just me, but Japan in general. I told you before I’d pay for you to go anywhere you wanted. You could go to Australia for all I care, I’d pay for your new place,” he continues, smoothing his hand over your face when you turn over to look at him, confused.

You’re the last person he wants to keep in his life. You’re not overly sweet, or the kind of person angel’s will sing about in their heavenly choirs, but you don’t deserve the kind of baggage Kishibe would bring you. He believes you have to be crazy to stay alive in the job he has, but he’s not stupid. From the looming threat of Makima, to Devils, to a dog he’d looked at wrong on the street, no one around him is safe. Even when you were just a weekend thing he knew better than to see you as frequently as he had. As he still does.

“You could use somewhere new. Your current place sucks,” Kishibe adds.

Kishibe is aware whatever simplicity you two had was over, and that’s why he wants you gone before he gets greedier. During the few months he’s known you he’s even (briefly) contemplated sharing a last name with you.

Kishibe knows he could handle it if something happened to you, he’s had worse things happen to him in his line of work, but he’s getting older, and softening up like a ripe fruit. If he dies today, knowing you got out wouldn’t be a bad last thought.