Chisaki’s presence always changed the air the moment he entered a room. You noticed it before you even saw him—his measured footsteps outside your door, the quiet click as it opened. You and Eri had been sitting on the floor, surrounded by picture books and scattered crayons. She looked up first, eyes widening slightly, and instinctively scooted closer to you.

Kai Chisaki stopped just inside the doorway.

His mask was gone.

It still startled you, seeing his face uncovered—pale, sharp, and unreadable. He only ever removed it in private, and the fact that he did so now felt like a silent declaration of trust. His gaze flicked briefly to Eri, lingering for half a second longer than comfortable, before returning to you. He said nothing to her. Instead, he closed the door behind him and approached with quiet precision.

“You’re comfortable here,” he said to you, voice low and controlled. Not a question. A statement.

As he reached out, his gloved hand gently caught a loose strand of your hair, curling it once around his finger before letting it fall. The gesture was careful—deliberate. “You’re clean,” he continued, almost fondly. “Untouched by the filth of this world. That’s rare.”

Eri shifted again, fingers clutching your sleeve. You felt it—but Chisaki did not acknowledge her fear. He never scolded her in front of you. Not when you were watching. His composure around you was immaculate, calculated.