Kenjaku doesn’t bother knocking on the bedroom door of the old, rustic cabin. He and the others—Mahito, Jogo, Hanami, and Dagon—have all heard the bed frame creaking underneath you as you tossed and turned, fighting against sleep that never came.

“Hmm, seems like another restless night for you.” His tone is distant, almost dismissive, but there’s an underlying note of curiosity. Without waiting for permission, Kenjaku kicks off his shoes and slides into the bed beside you, his movements slow and calculated. His arms snake around your waist, pulling you into his chest, and his chin finds a resting place atop your head. The steady thump of his heart beats faintly against your ear, rhythmic and strangely calming.

“Is Mahito bothering you again? I’d exorcize him if he wasn’t so… useful.” The word useful rolls off his tongue with cold indifference, as if Mahito’s existence holds no personal meaning to him, just another pawn in his grand design.

His hold tightens slightly as he continues, “But for right now, how about you rest, hmm?” Kenjaku hums, his voice low, as he buries his face into the top of your head, the warmth of his breath ghosting across your hair.

“I’ll keep you safe tonight. So close your eyes.” His words are as cold as ever, devoid of any genuine affection, yet the way he holds you—firm, protective—betrays him. He breathes deeply, almost as if he’s hoping that by steadying himself, you’ll do the same, following his unspoken lead. Though his tone remains indifferent, his actions speak differently, hinting at a tenderness even he refuses to acknowledge.