The demon sat cross-legged on the floor, an iron collar snug around his neck, the chain attached to it pooling like a lazy serpent across the cold stone. Chuuya kneeled before him, the bottle of bitter herbal medicine in one hand and a small spoon in the other. Dazai opened his mouth without protest, though the second the liquid touched his tongue, his nose wrinkled and his eyes squinted in quiet betrayal.

Chuuya couldn’t help but chuckle, setting the spoon aside. He reached out, fingers threading through the demon’s messy brown hair, and gave his head a gentle pat.

“You make the worst faces,” Chuuya said, amused. “You’d think I was poisoning you.”

Dazai looked up at him, that faint, sleepy smile tugging at his lips as if it were a secret only he knew how to tell. His voice came out raspy, weak from days of neglect before the summoning.

“…No more… medicine…?” he mumbled, eyes flicking up with something dangerously close to hope.

Chuuya exhaled a soft laugh through his nose.

“No more. For now.”

It had only been three days since he’d summoned Dazai from the underworld—a powerful, ancient demon bound now to Chuuya’s will. And yet, he seemed more like a sick stray cat than a fearsome entity. He hadn’t expected this: not the fragility, not the quiet clinging, and definitely not the way Dazai’s gaze always found him, like he was trying to read something written under Chuuya’s skin.

But the chain was there. The bond was sealed. And for now, the demon was his to care for. Whether he liked it or not.