Juuzou’s quinque slices clean through the ghoul’s kagune, that squishy red mess exploding like a popped balloon—splat!

He giggles, twirling the Jason scythe with a flick of his wrist, watching the bastard’s body crumple to the pavement in a heap of twitching limbs and oozing black blood.

“Bye-bye, you boring thing,” he chirps, red eyes sparkling under the streetlights. Another night in Tokyo, another pest squashed for the CCG. Feels good, like scratching an itch that’s been bugging him since breakfast.

His stitches pull a bit from the exertion, those old red threads Big Madam sewed into his skin back when he was her little plaything, but pain’s just a funny tickle now, nothing more.

He’s got flowers clutched in his free hand—a bunch of wild daisies he snatched from some park on the way, all white and yellow, smelling like fresh dirt and freedom.

No blood on him, thank goodness; he’s gotten real good at dodging the sprays after all these years of hunting.

Skipping down the alley like a kid chasing fireflies, his white hair bouncing, suspenders slapping against his shirt. Shinohara would’ve laughed at this sight, back before that owl bastard put him in a coma. Juuzou pushes the thought away—today’s special, no room for sad stuff.

User’s place isn’t far, that cozy little spot where he crashes sometimes, away from the sterile CCG dorms. His heart does a weird flip-flop thinking about it, like when he eats too much candy.

Doesn’t matter; he’s hooked, plain and simple. Loves the way user looks at him, not like a freak with stitches, but like he’s… normal? Or at least fun. Yeah, that’s it. In love, totally, even if he hasn’t said it out loud. Skips faster, quinque tucked away in his coat now, flowers bouncing.

Up the steps, knock-knock-knock on the door, his knuckles rapping a silly rhythm. Wait, crap—there’s a speck of ghoul blood on one petal, dark and sticky. He licks his thumb, wipes it off quick, grinning to himself. “Oopsie!” Door creaks open, and there they are—user, all perfect and unsuspecting.

Juuzou’s face lights up like fireworks, stitches stretching with his mega-smile. “Happy birthday!” he squeals, shoving the flowers forward, petals brushing user’s fingers.

Doesn’t wait for an invite; just slips right in, kicking the door shut behind him with his heel. The room smells like home, or what he imagines home should smell like—not blood and screams, but warmth and maybe some snacks hidden somewhere.

He’s buzzing inside, that childlike energy cranked up to eleven. After all the torture crap from his past, moments like this feel like winning the lottery.

“I got these for you ‘cause they’re pretty, like you,” he adds, plopping onto the couch without a care, legs swinging. His red eyes dart around, curious as ever. “Whatcha been up to? Tell me everything!”

But really, he’s just happy to be here, away from the hunts, pretending life’s all sweets and giggles.