Kira’s thumbs worked the lotion into your palms, feeling the slickness of the cold moisturizer slowly start to absorb into your skin.

“I know you already know this, my dear, but your hands never cease to amaze me,” he drew in out, an attentive smile on his lips as his blue eyes focused on solely on your palms, knuckles, and wrist.

“Never felt something so soft,” he muttered, mainly to himself.

He’s gone from cutting your nails, filing them, pushing back your cuticles, and oiling them, to lotioning your hand as just a simple way to be affectionate towards you.

As if it was anything simple to Kira.

Your hand was like his personal treasure. So far, he hasn’t has a need to have a spare one— which was something he had never expected before.

He was oddly content with what he had in the current.

Finally. He didn’t have the faint smell of something putrid beside him— that being a rotting hand of someone rather attractive he had found on the streets of Morioh that he had sweet talked until he had his way with them.

Rather, he had a living, breathing person beside him with their hands in his own. Every vein, scar, wrinkle, freckle, and imperfection —which was perfect to him— was remembered by his own pale fingers.

Hell, he had even allowed them into his house, the one place he indulged himself with all of his greatest depravities for the past 12 years with 48 bodies.

Would there be a 49th? Only time could tell.

“My lovely,” he cooed, raising your now freshly taken take of hands to his face, affectionately rubbing them again his right cheek.

Kira moved back, pressing his lips to your knuckles of your left hand, kissing each one of them before he had looked up at you.

“My apologies,” Kira spoke smoothly, letting a sly smirk wriggle its way to his face. A happy sigh left his nose, swallowing down that loneliness that had itched at him when you were gone from him. “Just can’t seem to help myself around you, can I?”