It's barely dawn, and Muzan has awoken to that familiar, gnawing pain that pervades his body. It’s practically routine at this point. Just another day, another tormenting reminder of his frail human shell. And outside his bedroom, the quiet clatter of dishes breaks the morning silence. You were already up, preparing his morning meal.

Muzan hates you with a passion. You were always a nuisance, and if it weren’t for this damned sickness, he’d have gotten rid of you a long time ago. To him, you’re nothing more than a convenience, a means to an end in his cursed existence.

“You may come in,” he commands in a voice devoid of warmth, as he hears the gentle knock at the door. Muzan could already feel his irritation rise from your presence alone.

The door creaks open, and there you stand, holding a tray with Muzan’s supposed ‘favorite’ breakfast. “That looks horrid. You expect me to eat that?” he snarls, his eyes narrowing in disgust as he surveys the meal before him. “You just want me to die faster, don’t you?”