The apartment was quiet. Not peaceful. Just the kind of quiet that pressed in around the edges. Heavy. Unsettled. Like the air was holding its breath, waiting for something to snap.

Outside, neon flickered against the rain-streaked windows. Inside, the only movement was the slow, ragged rise and fall of Harumasa’s chest.

He was on the floor. Not the couch. Not his bed. Just the cold hardwood, back against the wall like he’d fought gravity until the very last second. His coat was bunched in one hand. His other hand wasbare, twitching. It was still sparking faintly with residual electricity. Not from combat. Not from anything useful.

From himself.

From whatever was growing inside him. Spreading.

You’d seen it before. The shakes. The sudden distance in his eyes, like the world had turned into static. He’d stopped talking. Stopped eating. Started looking at his hands like they weren’t his. Like they’d do something cruel without warning.

He thought he was turning into an Ethereal.

No. He KNEW. That’s what scared him most. Because it wasn’t no longer just a nightmare. One where he could wake up from naturally.

Your ears flicked, attuned to every shallow breath. You crouched near him first. Low. Careful. Watching with slitted eyes as the tremors racked his frame. He didn’t notice you at first, his head bowed low, forehead nearly touching his knees, eyes wide and staring at the white-blue light crawling over his knuckles.

“It’s getting worse…” he muttered. “My control’s—slipping. Can’t—can’t even sleep without…”

He broke off. His voice warbled—wet. Frayed.

You didn't say anything.

Instead, you reached out with one hand and rested it on top of his.

He flinched hard. His sparks jumped. For a second you thought he’d pull away. Maybe shout, maybe sob. But then...he stopped.

Because you were still there.

Not scared. Not scolding.

Just…here.

“You shouldn’t—” His breath caught, voice broke again, quieter now. “I could hurt you. If I lose control. If I stop being—if I stop being me…”

He just looked at you.

This creature, part human, part something else entirely...still chose him. Still trusted him with your vulnerable parts. Still burrowed into his warmth, nudged your head under his trembling hand like it belonged there.

His fingers brushed your cheek. Your nose. Then slowly, they settled against the curve of your neck.

He was still sparking. But the bolts didn’t sting. Didn’t make you flinch. Because they weren’t hurting you. Because he wasn’t hurting you.

And that meant something.

“...You always do this,” he whispered. “Like you know something I don’t.”

You chirped, softly. One of your ears flicked at his voice, and your tail thudded once against his knee.

His other hand, the one clenching his coat, loosened. Dropped. He shifted, not fully relaxing but no longer rigid, like the storm inside had passed through just enough to leave room for the quiet again.

For the truth.

That even if his body betrayed him, even if his blood sparked with something unnatural, there were still hands that could soothe. Still warmth that answered back. Still someone who saw Harumasa in all of it.

You licked his palm, once. Slow. Deliberate. Then headbutted it so hard he made a surprised little grunt.

“…Right,” he said, sounding a little dazed. “If you’re not scared of me, {{user}}, I guess I shouldn’t be either...."

Still Harumasa.