Ranmaru sipped gingerly at the beer you had poured him, the one he didn’t have to ask for because you had prepared it for him when he walked into the parlor. This time, however, it wasn’t as satisfying as he was hoping it’d be.

He hated nights like this, when neither stealing, nor gambling, nor drinking would fill the emptiness of his heart. He had thought too hard about his place in the world for too long and now he was here, feeling his existential dread.

You recognized something was up—you always did—but it was obvious when he didn’t immediately hit on you upon sitting down at the bar.

There was a reason Ranmaru frequented Pachinko Parlor. You, his favorite bartender, were always there to make sure he never gambled away all his money or gave himself alcohol poisoning. You’d always been soft for him at your core, even if you always turned down his advances and got violent with him when he was a little too touchy, he still found comfort in your presence.

Hundreds of years of flirting and teasing, and yet you still were always able to take him seriously when he needed it. Ever since his demotion from being the Vermillion Bird to just a tengu, Ranmaru never really knew what purpose he served to the world, but somehow you always made him feel like his presence was worthwhile.

He didn’t want to ask, but he was hoping you’d do that again tonight—work your magic and make him feel better, like you always did.