Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The demon is looking at you like you’re going to kill him. Or like he’s about ready to try to kill you. He’s an ugly one, one of them that doesn’t resemble a person much at all beyond his general shape. Deathly pale skin covered in thick, night-sky blue stripes, close-shorn hair, and huge, unblinking eyes with sclera like shattered glass. He’s not very big, but the way he’s hunched in the corner isn’t from fear. That’s pure tension. 

What you read in the paperwork was horrifying. This demon is from a fight ring— one of the worst known yet. The conditions there were so brutal that they’d been shut down in a second, no chance to defend the brawls. 

While demons don’t have much in the means of rights, the ones found in the leftover warehouse the ring had been operating out of were in such sickening shape there was no question if it had to end. More dead than alive, more blood and wounds than clear skin, so starved and torn up their ribs showed through and their mouths dripped non-stop with saliva. That’s what your coworkers described. The one in front of you was apparently some sort of champion. He’s in better shape than the rest, but that’s after having a solid three weeks away from the ring to start to heal and recover. 

They asked him for a name. When he couldn’t give one, they searched whatever records were left. Akaza. A nonsense name given to a creature who probably doesn’t think he needs one. From the way he’s eying you, entirely unblinking, you honestly can’t tell if he’s murderous or terrified. 

“Hi there,” you say as gently as you can. You also stay by the door, the whole room’s length away from the demon occupying the far corner. “How are you doing? I’m here to check on you. Just seeing if you’re okay.”

The demon doesn’t say a word. He just keeps staring at you, unblinking, not so much as twitching to acknowledge your words. With those hauntingly sharp golden eyes, he looks almost possessed. It’s hard to picture a normal home willingly taking in one who looks so... creepy. Especially since you know exactly why he’s not responding. 

He had a blanket. A big, soft one that would provide plenty of cushion from the cold tile. Apparently, Akaza decided he didn’t want it. Said blanket is haphazardly abandoned by one wall while he crouches on the bare floor. 

“I’m going to get a little closer now. I won’t touch you.”

Announcing your actions before you move, you take a step toward the demon. Then another. Even though you’re moving slowly, Akaza tenses up visibly. His stare doesn’t falter, and he still doesn’t blink, but you can see his shoulders hunch up just the slightest bit. Two more steps and his fingers are curling against the tile. You’ve seen this posture before from demons who are thoroughly convinced that they’re about to have to fight— but this one seems downright trained. He knows exactly what he’s expecting to do. 

By the time you’re within five feet of him, a low growl starts up in the demon’s chest. He hunches down slightly, just enough that you get the message. He thinks you’re going to try to hurt him. Considering that this demon is a brutal fighter who could snap you in half, that’s kind of sad. 

“You’re okay,” you soothe. “I just want to sit down next to you. Is that okay? I’m just going to sit down.” As you talk, you start to lower yourself to the ground. Even this far away is better than nothing. It doesn’t help. 

Akaza’s growl pitches up. He’s shaking a little, still refusing to break eye contact. The other employees told you that he doesn’t tolerate people getting close, but this is... bad. Very, very bad. You’re not even within a yard of his space, and he’s acting like you’re about to beat him. The best you can do for now is to back off and try again later. With food, probably. Having something in their stomachs usually softens demons up a little. 

. . . 

You come back the next morning. Akaza is still in the same holding room— small, sparsely furnished, and with only his abandoned blanket to occupy him. The rooms are meant to be ‘safe’, but you don’t think they’re very reassuring to the traumatized demons who wind up in them. 

And of course, Akaza hasn’t moved a bit. He’s still in his corner, still staring, and still looking at you like he’s expecting nothing but the worst. 

This time, you come armed. You have a bowl of ground meat tucked in the crook of your arm (a blend meant for demons who haven’t eaten in a while), and you’re hoping, really, really hoping that this’ll make some kind of difference in his behavior. The distrustful, haunted gaze is fixed on you all over again, and yeah, he seriously hasn’t blinked since you’ve been there. 

“I have food for you. Not a whole lot, so we don’t upset your stomach, but food, yeah?” You try to stay cheerful despite the fact that you’re still all kinds of creeped out and concerned. “I’m going to get close enough to give it to you, okay? I’ll step back as soon as I set the bowl down.”

You do exactly that. Akaza doesn’t lash out at you, but he does start growling again when you get within about a yard. His gaze doesn’t leave you for a second, not even when you place the bowl of meat about a foot away from him. Because it’s just what happens with demons, he’s drooling already. As the smell of the raw, bloody flesh sinks in, you see him almost gag. But even when he starts shaking all over, Akaza doesn’t lunge for the meat. Maybe he’s just too nervous to eat with you there? That makes sense?

So with one last reassurance that the food is for him, you back off. Shutting the door behind you feels kind of cruel, but you know this demon isn’t comfortable with you (or anyone else) there. It’s kinder to leave him be. You’ll give it like an hour, then come back and see if he’s okay. 

When you do exactly that, though, what you come back to is far from reassuring. Akaza hasn’t moved from his corner. The bowl is untouched in front of him. He’s shaking violently, his eyes are squeezed tightly shut, and there’s drool dripping down his chin and chest to puddle on the floor. He hasn’t taken even a bite. You’d never believe it if it wasn’t in front of you. 

This time, he doesn’t growl when you get close. He doesn’t even seem to notice. All he’s paying attention to is, for whatever reason, not touching the pile of perfectly good food in front of him. You get to sit down maybe two feet away from Akaza without him doing anything but whimpering miserably. 

“Hey, that’s for you,” you say softly. “You can eat. It’s okay.”

As much as you want to, you don’t touch him. The chances of that ending in freak-out are high. Akaza’s eyes finally slit open. They fixate on you in an instant, but even though his breathing picks up, he stays still. 

“I-I’m not that st-stupid...” spills out of his salivating mouth, his voice weak and trembling, pained. Not eating has to be absolute torture. 

“What do you mean? It’s for you. I said it’s for you, yeah?”

Akaza just makes a tense, unhappy sound. “I know th-the rules,” he whines. “I-I know them. You c-can quit... quit t-testing me. I ha-haven’t won yet. I haven’t w-won, so I d-don’t eat!” The words all come pouring out with such determined certainty you can only sit there and stare. “J-Just take it away! I know better—! I w-won’t eat, so ta-take it away!”

A starving demon refusing food is unheard of. When you try to tell him, again, that he’s allowed to eat, Akaza snarls at you. He’s still drooling all over himself. His claws have left lines in the tile. It’s slowly dawning on you that he’s not going to believe you no matter what you say and that leaving the food in front of him amounts to torture more than kindness. He needs to eat. But if this is the reaction to putting food right in front of him...

In the end, you have no choice but to leave him to his self-imposed starvation. You take the entirely untouched bowl with you. 

. . . 

You leave him alone for another day. No one minds. The other workers are just as confused by Akaza’s behavior as you are. Sick as it is, no one minds leaving him to his own devices. Your job is to decide if he gets passed on to a new, normal home or gets his neck cut. Right now, the prospects aren’t looking good. Some demons, when they’ve been through such extreme levels of trauma, are too damaged to ever live in a real home. They don’t get better. They’re dangers to themselves or to others, too dangerous. 

This time, you’re going to push a little more. You need to examine him properly, and yesterday proved that, at the very least, he won’t attack you if you get too close. He’s scared but trained well enough not to lash out. 

He’s still huddled in that corner. But this time, you have a strategy. 

You sit down next to him, once again about two feet away. Akaza doesn’t growl this time. He just stares at you, a faint tremble setting into his shoulders and hands. “Hi again. We’re going to do something new today. You didn’t eat yesterday because you hadn’t earned it, right? That’s why?”

Akaza nods. “I know better,” he mumbles, low enough that it seems half like he’s talking to himself. You really don’t want to think about what made him ‘know better’, but you’re going to have to if you want to help. 

“Okay, so you’re going to earn it now.” As soon as you say it, Akaza’s whole body perks up. He’s expecting a fight, no doubt, and the look of frenzied need that sinks into his shattered-glass eyes only makes that knowledge sadder. “And not through a fight. I need to examine you, and I know you won’t like that. So if you can stay still and be good, you’ll earn a meal.” When Akaza stares at you like you’re insane, you continue. “These are the rules here. You know that if you’re good, you eat. Well, our standards of ‘good’ are different. This is all you need to do for now.”

It feels sick to manipulate him like this, but it’s all you can do. If using his programming against him is how you can make progress, then that’ll just have to do. Akaza keeps staring, unblinking, for a long moment, as if he’s considering what you just said quite thoroughly. And finally—

He nods and shifts out of his tense, ready-to-fight posture.

Great. You scoot a little closer into his space, getting the little plastic bag of bite-sized meat chunks out of your pocket as you do. Akaza stays perfectly still. And, then, you touch him for the first time. 

Starting small, you place your flat, open palm on his head, cupping the spiky, short-cropped mess of his hair with gentle fingers. He flinches, because of course he does, but just squeezes his eyes shut instead of trying to pull away. After a few seconds, you bring that hand down to the nape of his neck slowly, keeping a slow drag of contact the whole time. Akaza’s whole body stiffens up at that, and it only gets worse when you lightly trace the blue lines encircling his neck. His hands tighten into shaky fists. 

Next, you cup under his chin. He doesn’t look at you. You hold his head for a moment, then move on to take one of his hands. Carefully spreading his fingers to lace your hand with his, you watch his posture carefully. There’s no aggression yet, but he seems to be close to hyperventilating. When you rub your palm down his back in one long, slow slide, that only gets worse. A sharp, terrified whine tears out of him. 

“There we go. You’re doing good. See? You’re earning it.” You remove your touch and get a little chunk of meat out of the bag. Akaza shakes even harder instantly, but you hold it to his mouth without a hint of fear. 

Whether he believes he’s earned it or not, hunger gets the better of him. He snatches the meat from your hand with a desperate sound. The whole thing is swallowed in a second, so you get another one. Then another, feeding the trained fighter bite by bite out of your palm. And he’s careful. Even though he’s clearly frantic to get something in his stomach, Akaza doesn’t bite you. You feed him the whole bag one piece at a time. 

. . . 

After that, you decide to try one more thing. Simple touch had him shaking. Knowing what happens if you push is probably a good idea. 

So the next time you visit the room, it’s with the knowledge that you’re probably going to poke at some point of trauma better left alone. And... this is going to be telling. If he responds with aggression, that’ll be the end of it. It’s already clear he’s hardly suited for a normal home.

When you sit down next to him, still in that cold, lonely corner, Akaza flinches. No growling or tense, fight-ready posture. Just a full-body flinch coupled with a gaze full of the expectation of pain. He’s... probably starting to see you as some kind of handler. The same as the people who owned him before. That’s not exactly a good thing, but at least he’s listening to you...?

“I’m going to touch you again,” you say simply. “You can get more food in a bit if you’re good, okay? All you need to do is put up with it.”

Akaza looks at you like you said you’re going to torture him. 

And this time, you don’t try to be subtle. Instead of the slow, careful, professional touches from before, you get your fingers in his hair and scritch like you’re petting him. As soon as the drag of your nails registers, Akaza ducks forward like his body is trying to escape. You follow him. You bring your other hand up to cup his cheek and trace the lines there with your thumb. His eyes squeeze shut. The shaking starts again. He tries to pull away, but you keep your hand right there, stroking, petting, and—

“It’s okay. You’re doing good. This is perfect.” Soothing words just make him shake harder. His whole chest is heaving with too-sharp breath, and when you scratch lightly at the soft underside of his chin, Akaza all but chokes on a frantic, vulnerable sound. He’s still trying to escape it. 

“N-No— Stop, s-stop, no—!” And then, the whimpering pleas start. He tries to scramble back, press himself farther into the corner, and the utter terror in the poor demon’s wide eyes breaks your heart then and there. 

“Does it hurt?” you ask. It can’t, but you’re almost worried it does. 

“ No . No p-pain, why— It doesn’t h-hurt—!”

That’s the moment where it clicks. He doesn’t understand that touch doesn’t hurt. This sudden breakdown, the fear whenever you got close— Akaza very literally doesn’t have a concept of touch that’s not painful. When your fingers drag through the fuzzy little hairs at the base of his skull on curling reflex, the way he moans tells you everything you need to know.

He’s never going to make it in a normal home. 

You’ve never felt more pity for a demon in your life. Of all the ones you’ve worked with, this is quickly turning into the saddest thing you’ve ever seen. He’s going to die. Without ever knowing that just living doesn’t have to be filled with fear and pain, he’s going to be put down and forgotten about. 

As the tears start flowing from his scrunched-shut eyes, as he keeps whimpering, begging for something that you don’t understand, you stroke the dark lines on his cheekbone and come to a decision that’s probably a bad one. You want to see him happy, safe, curled up in soft things, and finally able to understand that he won’t always be starving and in pain. If you take him home and adopt him yourself, it’ll be his only chance at staying alive. 

Akaza’s confused, terrified stare when his eyes slit open makes up your mind. He’s going to have a chance at something better.

Chapter Text

Over the next couple of days, you file the paperwork. A lot of it. Going through the steps to be allowed to take a rescue like Akaza home takes forever, and even though you’d been aware of that part when you started, you can’t help but dislike the bureaucratic nature of the whole thing. 

You see Akaza from time to time. Without fail, he looks absolutely terrified of you, but you try to tune that part out. He’ll get used to you. You’re not going to give him any other option. After just touching him gave the poor demon a near-breakdown, you’re not letting anything happen but helping him become a well-adjusted pet who knows more than violence. 

It’s not easy to get close to him. Akaza refuses to leave his corner even now— in fact, after the incident where you pet him, he seems even more hesitant around you than ever. That part is just plain sad. 

But you make your way through the process, visiting Akaza every day to check on him and make sure he’s not being completely ignored. Even when it seems like he hates it, you try your best to show him that you care. At the very least, he needs to know that one person is invested in his wellbeing. Whether he believes it or not, letting him think he’s been forgotten in his holding room would be just plain cruel. No way are you letting that happen when you’re right there to deal with the problem. 

And then, finally, the paperwork is done. You’re cleared to take this particular disaster of a demon home with you— with the assurance that you can return him if he gets to be too much trouble. While you can understand the logic, that part still makes you a little angry on Akaza’s behalf. 

That very day, as soon as you know you’re allowed to do it, you bring what you need to where Akaza’s being kept. He’s probably never had a collar on in his life, but that just means there’s a place to start. When you step into the room, Akaza tenses up just as he always does. Still huddled up where he always is, his bizarre eyes fix onto you with a mixture of curiosity and distrust. He’s started trembling when you’re around. You’re not sure why. 

“Hi again. We’re doing something special today.” Trying to sound optimistic, you kneel as close to him as you dare. Explaining this feels almost wrong, and yet, “You’re not going to be staying here anymore.”

Akaza gives you a distrustful glare, tensing even more. 

“You’re coming with me,” you try again, gently, hoping he won’t react too badly to the news. “I adopted you, so you’re coming home with me.”

And with that, you hold out the collar you bought. It’s soft, brown leather that won’t dig into his skin. Most demons don’t necessarily need to be collared, but you are kind of afraid of what will happen if you take Akaza outside. He’s just going to have to put up with this for now, until he’s more adjusted to existing in the normal world. Hopefully, it won’t be for too long. 

He doesn’t protest. Really, he just looks terrified, but you press on. Scooting a little closer, you reach toward him with the collar. Akaza stiffens up like he wants to pull away, but when you get two fingers under his chin and guide him to sit up, he follows with you, not voicing any complaint. 

A little shiver tears through him as you slowly, carefully buckle it. The clasp in front pulls just tight enough to be secure, and as you hum, pleased, Akaza closes his eyes. For whatever reason, you dare to ask— 

“Have you had a collar before?” 

“...choke chains,” is his answer, which is about as awful as you expected. “Sharp on the inside. Makes sure we don’t try to pull away.”

“Well, this one isn’t sharp, see? It’s not going to hurt you. I’m not going to hurt you. I know that’s hard to understand right now, but it’ll get easier. You’ll see. I promise it’ll get easier.” You keep talking while you get the collar adjusted, trying to distract him from what has to be a nerve-wracking moment. Akaza just keeps staring at you, suspicious. 

When the collar is buckled, you attach a leash to the front D-ring next. While you don’t know how much good it’ll actually do (he has to be stronger than you), you’re hoping that what it represents will keep him a little calmer.

And then, it’s time to try to get him out of this room. You have a feeling it’ll be harder than it appears, but you’re ready to deal with that. In taking Akaza home, you’re anticipating... problems. Lots of them. As you stand up and step a little bit back, Akaza looks like he’s weighing the merits of digging in his heels and refusing to leave his corner. He doesn’t trust you, and he surely doesn’t trust whatever he thinks is waiting outside the room. 

“Come on,” you say, a little more firmly. “You need to come with me. It’ll be okay. Just start moving. Nothing bad is going to happen.”

Probably assuming he has no choice, Akaza shifts to his hands and knees, then slowly, upright. Staring at the leash in your hand, he follows you, even while his posture is markedly tense. You take that as the biggest victory you’re going to get and lead him out into the hallway. 

Akaza’s been in this hallway before, but as you take him farther, out into the main room with low evening light streaming in through the windows, you know this is new territory. He looks about as spooked as you’d expect, and even more so when you push the front door open with your hip and gesture for him to follow you out. He obeys, even if it’s reluctant.

Once you’re outside, it dawns on you that this might be the first time he’s been outdoors that didn’t involve being chained up. Or maybe just the first time altogether in longer than you want to think about. You tried to do this late in the day when the sun wouldn’t be too intense, so you hope it’s not too painful for him. Akaza doesn’t flinch, which is probably a good sign. Maybe. The way he is, you don’t think he’d react to anything short of agony. He seems like the type to refuse to show any kind of suffering. 

Because you think he needs it, you walk him through the grass. Barefoot, the cool blades go up almost to his ankles. The feeling gives him a moment of pause. That... only reassures your idea that he hasn’t had much of anything in the means of outdoors in a very long time— an idea which is only reinforced when he takes a long, slow, deep inhale of the night air. 

“Have you been in a car before?” you ask. Akaza nods. 

“A couple of times,” is all he says, which is still enough to lead you to all kinds of unfortunate conclusions. It probably involved transporting him between rings, which can’t make this experience any easier for him. 

“Tell me if you need a break,” is what you say when you reach your vehicle. You get Akaza situated in the back seat even though you don’t believe he’d say anything no matter how uncomfortable he is, and you hope that he won’t be too freaked out with the (fairly short) drive back home. 

It turns out to go fairly okay. The tension in the car is palpable, with Akaza staring out the window like he’s debating breaking it and trying to escape. Still, nothing happens other than you trying your best to focus on the road while worried about your passenger... who eventually seems to be fixating on the scenery outside more than his own vague panic. After maybe ten minutes, you pull up outside your house. Now, the hard part begins. 

Akaza takes one last deep breath before he goes through the front door. The lingering sense that he feels like he won’t get outside again is all too clear, but you try to tune that out. You’ll be proving him wrong, after all. 

This is definitely the first time he’s been in a normal home. Akaza’s head keeps craning around like he doesn’t know where to look, and his eyes are wide with some combination of confusion and outright fear. It’s easy to remember the panic attack you gave him through nothing but non-painful touch. Adjusting to any kind of life that isn’t violent, brutal, and inhumane isn’t going to be easy for him. There’s a whole lot of getting used to things that need to happen, and you’re the only one there to help with that. 

“You’ll be fine. It’s scary right now, but you’ll be fine.”

He looks at you like you’re crazy for saying it. You just try to believe that you’re right. That he’ll get used to living like this at all.

You’ve tried to get things ready for him. The keyword being tried. You really have no idea what a demon this fucked-up is going to need— no one does. People don’t talk about taking in the ones that have this many problems. They usually just wind up dead. So you’re figuring it out on your own, with only your best guesses to help you. And Akaza... well, you’ve done well enough so far. You like to think you’re his best option by now. 

The evening passes calmly enough. You show Akaza around your house and try to get him situated. He chooses yet another corner, this time in the far part of your laundry room, to call his own, and even though you’d hoped he might actually stick to the bedding area you’d set up for him, this is good enough. It’s a hidden place where he must feel somewhat safe. 

So you work with that. Even though Akaza looks like he’d sooner choke than touch it, you bring two of the blankets that were meant to be his over to that corner and lay them mere inches in front of him. “They’re yours,” you tell him. Firmly. Insistently. “I want you to use them.”

And you sit there, not moving, until he reaches out one pale, dark-striped hand and distrustingly snatches one blanket to pull closer. 

That’s as close to a victory as you’re getting for now. 

Now, you have to think of what you’re going to do with him. It’s fairly late into the night— and there’s no way you’re going to be able to sleep like this. Giving him space is one thing. Making progress might be another. 

In the end, you let him rest. You can only imagine what kind of places he was spending his nights in before the fight ring was shut down. 

. . . 

Morning comes. There are no windows in the laundry room, so Akaza is still shielded in darkness, likely unaware of how much time has passed. When you go to check on him, two golden eyes stare unblinkingly out of the low light. It’s as creepy as ever. You doubt he’s even tried to sleep. After all, you barely did. There’s far too much to think about with this commitment. 

But once your eyes adjust to the darkened room, you see that he still has the blanket. It’s not wrapped around him, but the plush cloth is gripped between two of his midnight-blue fingers. He didn’t let go of it or throw it aside. That’s the part that sends a little thrill of hope through you. Akaza meets your eyes almost nervously. His hold on the blanket tightens a little, like he’s not sure if he’s still allowed to be holding it. You can easily picture someone else yanking away what little comfort he could ever find. 

You don’t ask if he likes it. You know he won’t say yes. Instead, you approach slowly, kneel down, and let him adjust to you in his space. 

“Good morning. I brought you something to eat.”

Akaza’s face scrunches up a little with distrust, twisting up the ugly markings covering it. He looks uncomfortable to have you so close, but he doesn’t lash out. He just sits there, crouching, tense, and clearly wishing you’d back away. Unfortunately, you’re not about to do that. 

The little plastic bag you brought this time as well contains maybe eight little chunks of meat. It’s not perfectly what demons are meant to eat, but the quality is surely better than what you assume he’s used to. 

“I didn’t—” Akaza starts. You cut him off quickly. 

“You didn’t win anything, I know. That’s okay. You’re going to earn it again, like last time.” As you explain it, Akaza somehow looks more terrified than if you’d said you were selling him back to where he came from. “It’s not hard. You remember, right? Nothing hurt. Nothing is going to hurt.”

“...it’s worse.” The little grumble that leaves him is small and defeated, but you decide to press. When you ask what he means, Akaza grits his fangs and ducks his head. It’s hard to tell if he’s submitting to you or just angry. 

“Why is it worse? I didn’t hurt you, did I?” 

He cowers a little more at your question. “That’s what’s wrong. It’s, i-it’s supposed to— When people t-touch, it’s supposed to—” The rambling words that follow make sense at the same time they make your chest twist. As you expected, he truly doesn’t understand that touch doesn’t have to hurt. He’s more frightened and confused by gentle petting than if you’d struck him. Watching the conflict in his shattered-glass eyes is just sad. 

“It doesn’t have to hurt,” you tell him. “That’s just what you’re used to. Contact can feel good, too, just like you can feel safe. I know it’s hard to understand that right now, but you’ll get there. So for now... food?”

By now, Akaza’s eyes are on the bag of meat. No matter how scared he is, demons can only think of one thing when they’re hungry— and you know he’s more than a little starved. You open the bag, just barely parting the top in an idle motion, and watch the way his throat bobs at the smell.

The shaky nod that follows is all you could have hoped for. 

This time, you offer a piece first. Even though Akaza whines low in his chest and tries to reject it, you hold the chunk close enough to his mouth that reflex takes over. His fangs don’t even nick your skin as he snaps up the bit of flesh, but the full-body shiver that runs through him afterward is visible. And as soon as it’s in his mouth, though, you reach for the next part of the deal; your touch brushes the short-cropped fluff of his hair, and Akaza practically flinches away from it. His jaw clamps down on a tense whine.

You drag gentle fingers through his hair, down to the space just above one ear, and then to scritch lightly just above the nape of his neck. The more you pet him, the more the hovering tension builds, until he’s biting down on noises that sound more like fear than anything. You offer another bit of meat to try to ease some of that apprehension. He eats a little too desperately. 

With every passing second, Akaza seems more uncomfortable. Not like he hates it, but like he doesn’t know at all what to do. You curl your hand over the place where his spine meets his skull, and he twitches to escape it. 

“Does it feel bad?” you ask. “I know you’re scared, but think about it for me. Does this feel bad, really? It’s just my hand. It doesn’t hurt.”

Akaza’s fingers dig tighter in the blanket he’s still holding until you’re pretty sure he’s going to rip it. He’s shaking badly by now, and when you dip down to cup his chin, he growls like he’s sorely tempted to bite you and make this end. You persist. Another bit of meat between his teeth muffles some of the snarling, even though the shaking doesn’t stop. 

And finally, finally, as you scratch lightly under his chin, some part of him seems to give up altogether. You can practically see it happen. 

Slowly, his head dips forward. He uncurls from his hunched-in position just enough to sink to his knees— and for his head to come to rest against your shoulder. Akaza’s cool forehead butts lightly against you, and he heaves a long, unsteady sigh. He’s still tense all over, but it seems better, somehow. 

When you switch to rubbing long strokes down what part of his back you can reach, his breath catches. A drag of your nails over bare skin leaves his muscles twitching. You stay like that, still petting him, as the minutes tick by. Akasa doesn’t try to pull away. Little growls still escape him from time to time, and his body is wound tight like a coiled spring, but he stays as he is, with no attempt to make it end. It’s hard to say whether he hates the contact still or is growing to tolerate it, but at least it’s something. 

Finally, with an empty bag and a sense of satisfaction, you go to scoot back. Akaza’s head dips after your fleeing touch to follow it. 

Sitting back, his expression is dazed. There’s a look of utter confusion in his strangely patterned eyes, so hazy it seems like he’s failing to pull much of any coherent thought together. With a full belly and more gentle touching than he’s had in his life so far, you can see why. It has to be overwhelming— you’re just pleased to see that he’s not scared anymore. 

“You can stay here. If you want this to be your space, that’s okay. I’ll let you rest when you want to, but you’ll need to try to live normally too. We’ll go outside at night, I’ll feed you plenty, and we can keep trying the touching thing until it gets better.” You try to explain it like it’s a good thing. 

Akaza swallows. He nods. Almost mechanically, he tips over onto his side and pulls the blanket a little closer, reflexively seeking that small form of comfort. You’re tempted to cover him up, to pet him again, but...

What’s already happened is enough for now. Akaza is yours. There will be plenty of time to figure out how to make him feel truly at peace. 

Chapter Text

Akaza stays with you for a few more weeks. Not much changes. You feed him and touch him and check on him at least a few times a day, and he... kind of gets used to it. You can’t say that he’s adjusting, not really, but he tolerates your presence a little more than he did in the beginning. 

He’s always vaguely uncomfortable, but you do think he’s relaxing a little. Just a little bit. Still, that’s better than nothing. It’s better to see him lying on his side on his blanket than huddled up in some corner, even if the difference is sadly a small one. Any measure of progress is significant with this one, no matter how small it may be. You’re just glad he’s sleeping. 

And it stays like that for a while. You get used to the perpetual presence in your laundry room, and Akaza (maybe) gets a little more used to life indoors. You don’t make him do much of anything, and that’s okay. 

But one morning, when you’re first checking on him, first thing, after getting up, something immediately doesn’t seem quite right.

Akaza is lying down, as he often is. But instead of merely being on top of his blanket, he’s pulled the whole thing around him so that he’s balled up and hidden under the fabric. That’s strange right away. Akaza never does anything that could be defined as comforting. He never shows weakness. 

His eyes are closed. When you whisper a low, “Hey there,” he doesn’t move. It’s not until you’re in his space, maybe eight inches away, that his eyelids finally slit open. Even then, he doesn’t try to sit up at all. 

You... really don’t know what to do. Your best guess is that he feels sick— and from the odd flush on his cheeks, you’re probably right. Demons don’t often get ill, but it can happen. You sit there for maybe thirty seconds without saying anything else, unsure of how you can approach this situation and not freak him out even more. There doesn’t seem to be a good answer, so in the end, you just reach out and lightly tap his shoulder. 

“What’s wrong? Do you not feel good?” you try to ask, hoping it’s a good sign when Akaza finally looks up at you with those bizarre eyes. 

He rolls onto his back just a little bit, just enough to make full eye contact, then speaks. “Feel weird... Tired. Dunno.” His voice is slurred and quiet, nothing like the clipped tone you’re used to. Even worse, his gaze is definitely unfocused. His marked fingers curl lightly in his blanket. 

You hum a noise of concern. This... doesn’t look good. When you don’t say anything else for long enough, Akaza twists right back over onto his side and closes his eyes again. Despite the odd behavior, he doesn’t seem tense. There’s none of his usual guarded, prickly aura in the room. The only feeling you’re getting is that he’s so out of it he’s not paying attention to you. 

Eventually, you decide to leave him alone for a little bit longer. Maybe he’s just tired? You can deal with this later, if it doesn’t go away on its own. 

You almost think you hear a whine as you leave the room. 

. . . 

It doesn’t get better. By the end of the day, after checking on Akaza two more times, he hasn’t changed a bit. He’s still quiet and bordering on delirious, and by now, you’re really starting to get worried about this. 

Not knowing what to do, and with it too late to call anyone to ask, you conclude that the best thing you can do is stay in the room and keep an eye on him. There’ll be twenty-four-hour vets open if needed, but really, he’ll probably sort himself out soon enough. He’s tough. You’ll camp out in the laundry room for the night and see if there are any changes in the night. 

Even though you try your best to stay awake and watch him, though, you wind up passing out sometime an hour or so after midnight. 

That’s when the really weird part happens. 

You wake up to something nudging at your side. You’d fallen asleep sitting up, leaning up against the washer—, and as your eyes slowly open and your sleep-muddled mind catches up with the world, you realize that there’s some kind of weight on your leg. Heavy. Solid. Wait a minute—

All too quickly, you’re awake for real. And taking in with utter shock the image of Akaza lying half in your lap, his blanket pulled right along with him. His head and shoulders are resting on your thighs, and he’s buried his face halfway against your stomach. He’s trembling all over too, and it doesn’t seem like that part is because he’s cold. Akaza is touching you. Willingly. He crawled into your lap without any prompting, and the longer you think about it, the more you start to feel like the world is ending.

For a moment, you’re frozen. You really don’t know how to respond to this. Akaza’s had panic attacks over you touching his hair, and now he’s trying to get as close to you as possible without a hint of fear. He’s practically cuddling into you now, with no hesitation. Something’s gone very, very wrong here. And you don’t know the first place to start questioning it. 

“Akaza, what are you doing—?” you ask, trying not to sound as shocked as you feel. He muffles a needy sound against your stomach. 

“F-Feel weird... I dunno, i-it just... Close feels good. ” With slurred, broken words, the demon snuggles even closer to you. He pulls his blanket around himself a little more and whines at the feeling of it. 

That’s when it dawns on you exactly what’s happening. 

He’s in heat. It was harder to notice because Akaza’s baseline behavior pattern is so incredibly broken, but this is definitely heat. And—, that makes sense. Too much sense. After a lifetime of violence and stress and suffering, he’s spent weeks somewhere without any of that. He’s had time to relax and feel safe, and that means that biology is catching up with him fast. 

At least you know he’s not sick. And even more reassuring, you know what to do with this sort of problem. It’s normal for demons, after all.

“I know it feels strange. It’ll get better soon, promise.” Now, you know that soft and caring is what’s needed. There’s no reason to be concerned... but spoiling him as much as possible is the best option. You doubt Akaza has ever had a heat before, and that means that you can probably make a massive breakthrough by having it be a good experience for him. “Can you get up, please? We’re gonna go somewhere nicer than the laundry room.”

With a little whimper and a nudge from you to get his attention, Akaza does indeed haul himself to his feet. He’s unsteady, though, and he keeps holding his blanket to his chest, vaguely childlike with it, all the while.

Going slowly enough that he won’t fall, you take one of Akaza’s cold, dark-patterned hands and guide him back to your bedroom. As soon as you get through the door, he makes another desperate little sound. It’s probably your scent. Since you sleep here, there’s nowhere in the house that smells more like you. And since he trusts you, that’s exactly what his body wants. 

You help him settle in one corner, close-ish to your bed, then wrestle the fluffiest blanket available right off it. That blanket goes down to wrap around him, drawing out a whine as soon as it settles. Out of his mind with brain chemicals, Akaza drops to his side almost instantly, squirming so that it wraps as much around him as possible. He buries his face against the softness of it and inhales deeply, then lets out a shuddering sigh right after. 

From there, with Akaza settled as much as possible for now, it’s off to the hall closet to grab whatever else you can find that’s soft enough. 

For someone who’s never had this happen before, it has to be confusing. Being allowed to curl up in soft things and rest instead of the misery he lived before is a shock to his system, no doubt. The sheer fact that his brain has decided to crave closeness— that’s so, so new. 

So you bring back five more blankets, one by one. When you drop them in front of Akaza, he reaches for them without thinking, tugging and adjusting and wriggling around until they’re all wrapped around him and padding the floor. It was a struggle to get him to accept one blanket before. Now, he’s cuddled up in seven and looking more dazed than anything. 

Next, you pull the curtains in your room and tug down the shade so as little sunlight as possible will come in when morning rolls around. That’ll make things a lot more comfortable; perpetual darkness to hide in.

When you check on him, Akaza is shivering. He still looks all dazed and out of it, and after a moment under your gaze, he squirms around enough to hide his face. You can’t help but wonder what’s going on in his head. If he’s coherent enough to know what he’s doing. If he regrets exactly that. 

But, deeming him safe to be on his own for a few minutes, you go to the kitchen and fetch a large bowl filled with chunks of meat. In a way, you like this Akaza better. It feels like you might actually be getting somewhere. 

Back in the bedroom, when you sit down beside him in his pile, Akaza makes a whiny little noise. He rolls toward you, probably on instinct, and stares up at you with those strange eyes. His hair has gotten longer. That part strikes you suddenly. It’s shaggier and reaching all the way down to his forehead, and somehow— that makes him seem all the more fragile now. 

“Hi there. Do you wanna eat something?” You don’t touch him quite yet, but when you offer a little chunk of meat, he takes it willingly. 

And like that, he eats from your fingers. There’s no trying to resist, this time. No insisting that he hasn’t deserved the food. He just soaks up the comfort of having something in his belly, unquestioning of your kindness, for once. As always, he’s careful with his sharp teeth. Even like this, there’s not a single scrape of fangs against your skin. He whimpers as he swallows. That’s... sad. You know he wasn’t fed very often before you, and that meals only came with a victory in the ring. Regular food has to be bizarre to him. 

You let him eat over half of the bowl before you take it away. By now, Akaza is rubbing his face against the closest blanket, practically purring at the softness under his cheek. His eyes are lidded. His breathing is slow. 

“I think you should go back to sleep for a bit,” you tell him. He doesn’t seem to hear you (or at least, he’s not paying attention), so you decide that special measures are in order. Like this, he’s probably not going to care if you try to pet him. He might even want it. Actually, he’s very likely to. 

So you reach out and stroke your fingers through the fluff of spiky hair just above his ear. For a second, his whole body goes tense, just as it always does. Probably an instinctive reaction to what his body thinks will end in pain. But as you curl your fingers and scratch lightly at his scalp, dragging your nails in long, slow caresses, that instinct to jerk away slips away. The heat wins over his fear. Akaza slowly goes limp under that slight touch. 

The longer you pet him, just running your fingers through his hair, the worse his shaking gets. Like this, he doesn’t have the mental filter to be afraid of the touch, but his nerves still don’t know what to do with it. Even after a month of cushy living, the trauma of what he’s lived before still lingers. You imagine it’ll stick around for a long time even after this. 

“You can relax. It’s okay. It’s just a little petting, right?”

Your whisper makes him twitch. His eyes keep trying to close, held open by nervous instinct alone. Whatever coherent parts of his brain are left don’t want him to give in so easily— probably for fear of being hurt. But the biological drive for comfort and softness right now is stronger, in the end.

Little by little, he does drift off. The fact that he’s so calm while you’re touching him would be shocking if you didn’t know how bad heats get. 

It’s only when you’re certain he’s asleep that you stop. Considering that it’s the middle of the night, it sounds like a wise idea to get some sleep, yourself. There’s going to be a lot to deal with tomorrow. More of this.

After putting away the leftover meat, you crawl into bed.  

. . . 

This time, you’re woken up to the clatter of your laundry hamper hitting the floor. It’s loud enough to startle you awake, and when you sit bolt upright to see what the fuck is happening, you’re met with Akaza out of his nest, nuzzling his face against a sweater you wore maybe a week ago.

For a second, you just stare. Akaza drags the sweater right back to his blanket pile, flopping down with it pressed to his cheek. With a little sigh, he burrows down into the softness again, practically shaking as he does. 

So you get up. You kneel down beside his pile and ask, “You okay?”

Akaza just makes a vague, whiny sound. He takes a deep inhale of your sweater, which draws out another soft sound. Still, no answer.

There’s a light layer of sweat on his forehead and cheeks, and when his eyes crack open, they’re even more glazed than before. When you brush a bit of shaggy hair out of his forehead, he leans into it desperately. 

“I’m gonna go get some stuff,” you tell him, then stand up again. 

You grab a damp, cool washcloth from the bathroom, the leftover meat from the night before, and a spare hairbrush. Then, it’s back to the bedroom, where Akaza hasn’t moved. He rolls a bit to look up at you, and the expression in his glassy eyes is almost uncomfortably tender. Needy. When you kneel down beside him again, he actually tries to scoot closer to you. He’s too shaky to get very far, but his cheek drops against your knee. 

With the washcloth, you wipe his face off little by little. Akaza leans into the coolness with a sigh. His darkened fingers curl in the blankets as he shivers, and within moments, he’s basically nuzzling into your hand. You spend a little longer than you need to on it, just to comfort him. 

“Oh, baby. You don’t feel good, do you?” You’re not sure where the softness comes from, but Akaza shudders into the words. 

Then, you feed him again. One bite at a time, you let him eat out of your hand, all while stroking his cheek and temple with a slow, gentle touch. Akaza eats slowly, like he can hardly even keep the presence of mind to chew and swallow properly. His tongue drags over your fingers a couple of times, lingering like he wants to take them into his mouth. 

And... you know heats come with another kind of neediness. A kind that Akaza probably wouldn’t understand even if he was feeling it.

Right now, he’s weaker than he’s likely ever been in his life. For a champion of a fight ring, put under so much stress that his heats stopped altogether for years, this has to be bizarre. Terrifying. At least he has someone to take care of him. You can only imagine what would have happened with someone who didn’t care to look after him. Suffering through this alone would have been misery beyond what you can picture. 

He’s squirming a little, just enough that you can guess he’s either uncomfortable or just plain restless. After the meat is gone, you watch him for just a moment, taking in the unusual softness of his expression. 

Akaza looks softer than you’re used to. It’s definitely just the heat making him all melty and weak, but this look almost suits him. You’re glad he’s relaxing a little bit, even if it’s under these circumstances. It’s nice to see him in a state other than tension and guarded nervousness. 

When he starts whimpering again, reaching blindly for some part of you to hold onto, you get the hairbrush. “Come here,” you say. He does.

Wriggling just close enough to put his head on your lap, Akaza goes practically limp. He’s still clinging to your sweater, but once again, he buries his face against your stomach needily, sweetly, nothing like his normal self. 

So you drag the brush through the messy fluff of his hair. Since it’s gotten longer, it’s spikier and almost wild when he sleeps on it. The stroke of bristles makes Akaza shudder all over. He grips at your sweater a little tighter. He nuzzles lightly at whatever smell of you he can reach, and—, you stay like that. It’s easy. This closeness is what you’ve been hoping for since you first interacted with him. It’s just a little sad that it can only happen when he’s out of his mind with his heat and so vulnerable. 

And then, out of nowhere, he manages to get words out. 

“Mmmn... Why’re you...? Feels... Feels nice,” Mumbling dazedly, this one moment of coherence gets through. He’s still shaking, but it’s not as bad as when he was in his right mind and thinking clearly. The admission that it’s nice makes it clear that the heat is winning out over his usual defensiveness. 

“I’m helping,” you tell him. “Just relax. It’ll be okay. Your brain’s all weird right now, but you’re going to be okay.” You brush some hair off his forehead, and Akaza sighs. He closes his eyes again. 

“Okay...” he mutters, still sounding painfully confused, still nuzzling sweetly into your hand. Then, so quiet you can barely hear it, “ Don’t go. ”

When his heat wears off, you’ll probably be back quite a few steps from this. You can still hope that he’ll remember you taking care of him, and that he won’t be quite so scared. This is more kindness all at once than he’s had in his life, you’re certain. Maybe that’ll be enough to earn some trust. 

Chapter Text

The heat lingers for a while longer. You take some time off to spend at home with Akaza in the hopes that it’ll make some difference, especially once the heat is over and done and he’s back in his right mind. When that happens... you’re not expecting anything good. It’s going to be a mess, and the best you can hope for is lessening the damage of the aftermath. 

He’s sweet while it lasts, though. The change is shocking. While there’s no mental filter to stop him from doing as his instincts demand, Akaza clings to you like you’re the one safe thing he knows in the world. Watching the clingy behavior borders on surreal, and yet, there’s something satisfying about finally seeing him relax. When Akaza is melted in your lap, face buried against your stomach, it’s a relief you don’t know how to describe. 

Maybe he really will be okay, you think. If he can be like this, even though it’s only because his own biology is working against him, it feels like there’s some hope of him really getting better someday. Being happy. 

So you enjoy it while it lasts. You take the time and effort to spoil Akaza as much as you can, while he’s still in a state of mind where he wants it. He’s well-fed and warm, and you allow him all of the touch he wants. Soon enough, he’ll be hating himself for this, but while it’s still safe...

It’s selfish, in a way, but you want to see him feel good. 

But it does come to an end. 

One morning, you wake up and find Akaza gone. He’s not in the blanket nest that’s become a well-established part of your room, and that’s the only sign you need that it’s over. The heat is done, no doubt. 

You find him in the laundry room once again, huddled up right where he was before, as if none of this ever happened. His eyes snap up to you as soon as you enter the room, with the same wild, terrified look that was there before, but laced with a distinct edge of shame. He hadn’t taken so much as a single blanket with him; now, he’s sitting on the bare floor. 

“How are you feeling?” you ask. After everything, you don’t know if it’s okay to get close, right now. He looks nervous again. Distrustful. 

Akaza stays silent. You stand there and wait for a minute or two, and still get no response. He looks away from you, soon enough, scowling tensely at the floor when he can’t hold eye contact anymore. He’s pressed into his corner all over again. In the end, you don’t know what to do. You don’t want to push too far or make the situation any worse than it already is, and that leads you to eventually sigh, turn, and walk away. 

What started out as hope that things would have changed is now sinking into the more rational awareness that they... really haven’t, probably. Or if they have, the change is one that leaves you no better off than before. Akaza still doesn’t trust you. There’s no so-easy fix. 

That day, you make some notes for yourself— things that you want to accomplish with him, somehow. You’ve thought about these things before, but actually writing them out seems more concrete, somehow. You’re content enough to just let Akaza live in peace (you know he hasn’t had anywhere near enough of that), and yet, some things could stand to be improved, both for his quality of life and your sanity as his guardian. 

The two points that end up underlined are helping him adjust to spaces outside the laundry room, and getting him to accept nice things more easily. If you can figure those out, even a little bit... a lot would be easier. 

. . . 

Morning comes soon enough, and you’re determined to make some progress. It’s a free day with nothing to do but dote on your demon, and you fully intend to make use of it. You’ve had enough of watching him stay huddled up in his corner, so terribly uncomfortable with the world. 

And that’s exactly where you find him. You’re not expecting anything different, but it’s still a little disheartening to be the subject of that distrustful gaze all over again. As if he has no faith in you at all. 

“Hello again,” you start, this time stepping all the way into the dark little room. “We’re going to do some things today, alright? Easy things. You just... need to come out of here for a bit. It won’t be bad. Last time wasn’t, right? Nothing bad happened to you, and it’ll be okay this time too.”

Continuing to stare at you, Akaza doesn’t respond. His gaze is intense, and yet, you’re starting to think it seems more nervous than aggressive.

When seconds tick by and you still get no answer, you sigh. “Alright. You don’t have to say anything. Just come here, please. You’re not going to spend all day in here today.” Keeping as gentle of a tone as you can manage, you gesture for Akaza to approach you. You almost, almost think he’s not going to budge, that you’re going to have to force him out of that corner somehow, but eventually, he shifts to a crouch, then to his knees. 

Akaza crawls to sit in front of you, looking tenser than ever. He inhales a slow, strained breath through his nose... and seems to regret it, judging from the way his eyes squeeze shut afterward. Is he reacting to you? 

“Thank you,” you say, and resist the urge to ruffle his hair. That wouldn’t be a reward to him. “Now, we’re going to come out into the house, okay? I won’t bother you or anything, but I’d like it if you could just... sit out here. Wherever you’re comfortable, but not the laundry room for a bit.”

Slowly, Akaza nods. Small victories, you tell yourself. 

Even if he hates being out of ‘his’ space, Akaza follows you into the living room without a word of protest. He’s tense enough to be trembling again, but other than that, there’s no negative response. Not outwardly. 

Now... you don’t really know what to do. Akaza is out of the laundry room, at last, but you know better than to pester him too much. You’re going to have to leave him be, for the most part, even though all you want to do is keep finding ways to make progress. Ignoring him is going to be difficult, but that’s what will get the best results. You know he needs space, so you force yourself to settle on the couch and let him have exactly that. 

You get your computer out and find some ways to kill time. Checking emails, answering messages, catching up on various feeds... whatever catches your eye. While you sit there, you try your best to look relaxed. To not give off any tension that might make Akaza even more uncomfortable.

Akaza, meanwhile, finds a corner and stays there. It’s the farthest one from where you’re sitting, and he stays there, crouched, for a long few minutes before he finally calms down enough to properly sit down. 

Even though you try not to look at him too much, every time you glance up, he hasn’t moved a bit. He might as well be a statue, hunched there in the corner, and there’s not much you can do about it. It’s progress, at least. That’s what you tell yourself, at least, and try to hope it is. 

It stays like that, for a while, and that’s all you can do. 

Hours tick by. You get up a few times to make yourself food, to do a couple of little chores, and just to walk around a bit. Akaza doesn’t move, but slowly, the atmosphere does relax. It’s hard to tell exactly what he’s thinking, and... just sitting there with him in your space, even from a distance, is peaceful in a way you hadn’t expected. It’s nice to be able to see him, to have him there instead of curled up back in the laundry room. 

At some point, you start to drift off. Clicking through various things, your mind starts to wander, until eventually, your eyes start closing on their own. A little nap wouldn’t hurt, right? It’s not too late in the day for that. 

You’re not sure how long you’re asleep, exactly, but the thing that shakes you out of slumber is the last thing you would have expected.

Still half-drowsy, your eyes crack open— the kind of open where you’ll doze off again in no time. That is, if you hadn’t seen a familiar blurry, white and dark blue shape in front of you through the haze of sleep. 

That makes you snap awake. Your eyes open fully... and Akaza jolts back quickly enough to bump into the coffee table. The sudden contact makes him flinch, gaze darting around the room, but he doesn’t run. He just sits there, tense as a coiled spring, looking distinctly guilty, for some reason.

“Akaza...?” When you speak, he flinches again, shoulders hunching in. 

It takes you a second to process what’s going on, but slowly, you realize that he must have approached you while you were asleep. You have no idea what would have made him want to get closer, especially with how uncomfortable he’s been around you lately, and yet, the demon now crouched just a couple of feet away proves exactly what happened. 

“You can sit over here, if you want to,” is the next thing you try to say. “I don’t mind. Actually, I’d like it if you didn’t just stay in a corner all day.” You sit up and grab your computer again, trying to look calm and move slowly. There’s maybe some hope he’ll stay close to you now... right?

For a minute or so, it looks like Akaza is debating it. You have no idea what’s going on in his head (you really never do), but a part of you still hopes he wants to stay closer, if even for a little bit. While there’s no doubt he’s scared of you, the heat had to have done some good, right? At the very least, he knows you’ll take care of him. That you won’t hurt him even while he’s at his most vulnerable. You hope that’s what you proved, back then. 

And then, by some miracle, he sits down. He’s still keeping his eyes on you, but he sits down with his back to the couch, almost leaning against it, and doesn’t move from there. You can hardly believe it’s happening. 

“...thank you,” you say after a moment, quiet in the hopes that you don’t scare him off. With no other words, you settle back into your seat. 

. . . 

The next day, you have to go out on errands. Not for long, but... it always makes you a little nervous to leave Akaza home alone. Since you’ve had him, you try to keep your excursions to a minimum in length. 

“I’ll be back soon,” tell him before you go. You don’t know if Akaza cares much whether you’re home or not (if anything, he probably prefers to be left alone, you’d assume), but you still feel like you need to give him some warning when you’re going to be gone. Just so it’s not a surprise. 

After what happened yesterday, you’re feeling hopeful. Akaza spent the rest of the day in the living room, not trying to disappear back into the laundry room until you’d given him permission. Even though he’d been silent and still the whole time, with that watchful gaze never leaving you no matter where you moved, the whole experience felt like actual progress. 

He still slept in the laundry room, in the end, just as he always does, but you went to bed satisfied with the sheer difference between the near-feral behavior of not so long ago and what you’re seeing now. 

The errands turn out to go on for a while longer than you expected. A friend runs into you and starts up a chat, you get caught in a couple of lengthy lines, and it seems like you catch every red light on the way home. All in all, you end up taking about an hour longer than you expected. 

By the time you’re finally back home, you’re exhausted. You doubt Akaza was concerned with the time you spent away, but still... 

You’re definitely not expecting what’s waiting for you inside. 

When you crack open the front door, calling out a quick ‘I’m home’, there’s someone behind it. Akaza, who jolts and scrambles back a few feet as soon as the swinging door gets too close. He ends up crouched and staring at you, looking somewhere between his usual amount of tense and vaguely guilty, like he’s been caught doing something he’s not supposed to. 

It takes you a second to process what’s going on. Why would he have been near the door? As far as you know, Akaza prefers not to leave his isolated little corners unless you force him to, so what reason... 

And then, it clicks. He was waiting for you. 

“Hi there. I’m back. Sorry I kept you waiting for so long— it was crazy busy out there.” On your way past him, you dare to pat his head. 

Even though he flinches away a little, as usual, Akaza doesn’t entirely dodge the touch. He just sits there, looking nervous, and only trails after you once you’re nearly in the kitchen. He silently watches you the whole time you put things away, a perpetual, observant presence in the doorway. 

When you’re done, you approach him. “Were you waiting there for me?” you ask, crouching down to his level. For a second, Akaza looks like he wants to back away and not have to face this, but eventually... 

The way he averts his gaze says everything. 

“That’s not bad,” you tell him. “I’m really happy you did that, actually. I’d miss you if you had to go somewhere, so the opposite is fine too.”

Looking uncomfortable, Akaza shifts a bit under your gaze. He probably doesn’t like being confronted over this... or that you realize what he did at all, even if you’re only praising him for it. It’s hard to tell exactly why he’s so hesitant, but then again, you rarely understand these things.

Akaza has more issues in there than you’ll ever fully grasp. 

You want to reward him for this, somehow. It’s still a surprise that he’d come out on his own to wait by the door for you, especially when you’ve spent all this time uncertain if he was ever going to develop any kind of trust in your care. Maybe the heat really did do some good. After the time you spent looking after him, maybe it’s a little easier to believe you won’t do anything cruel. You want to hope he doesn’t look quite so tense. 

So as usual, you get his food ready. Regular meals still make Akaza very, very nervous, but he doesn’t resist them as much as he did before. It’s easier to convince him to eat, without the need for enduring something awful just to ‘earn’ it. That little bit of surrender is a perpetual relief to you, at least, especially now that he’s willing to eat on his own. 

He stays in the living room with you for his meal, not yet slinking back to the laundry room to hide. Those intense eyes remain fixed on you near-constantly, though. He’s not letting you out of his sight. 

It’s hard to tell what the reason for that is. Does he see you as a threat to be observed? Or does he just want to keep track of you? 

Either way, the best thing to do about it, you think, is to try your best to seem harmless. As usual. Just sitting there and sharing space is pleasant. Even though it’s a little strange to have your companion in the room with you, there’s something equally nice about it. About knowing that he’s grown comfortable enough with you to hover like this, without being forced. 

That’s how the two of you remain until evening. You handle a few tasks on your computer, sit in silence, and enjoy this rare moment of semi-peaceful closeness. Akaza stays right where he is, unmoving. 

Eventually, it’s time to go to bed. You get up and start to put your things away, mentally running through the steps of your nighttime routine. It doesn’t catch your attention at first, but... Akaza still hasn’t moved. Even after you have the dishwasher running and your teeth brushed, and are finishing up the last few things before you can sleep, he hasn’t tried to go back to the laundry room yet. He hasn’t tried to escape at all. 

You’re starting to think he wants to stay in his spot there for the night and just about to say goodnight and retreat to your room, when—

“...can I come back there again?”

The request is said quietly, but it comes through clearly in the near-silence of the darkened living room. “What? You mean, back to my room?” you ask, certain you have to be understanding this wrong. 

But Akaza nods. He’s staring at you the same as he always does, with some awful mixture of uncertainty and tension seeping out of his gaze. He’s... probably expecting you to refuse, you realize. In his mind, why would he be allowed in a human’s room? You know that this has been his first experience in a house at all. It has to seem impossible that you’d allow it. 

“Yes, you can. I’d like that, actually. Let me get your blankets again.”

You do exactly that. Akaza’s pile of blankets is returned to its place in your room— less extravagant than before, in the hopes he’ll tolerate that better. By the time you have them all piled up, he’s crept closer, hovering near your doorway, and watching like he’s not sure what to do.

“Sleep wherever you’re comfortable,” you tell him. “If you want to stay here, that’s fine. If you need to go back to the laundry room, that’s okay too. You’ve done a lot today, so you can pick a reward that you’ll like.”

Before you lie down, you give Akaza’s spiky hair a quick pat. He only flinches a little bit under the touch. You crawl into bed in the hopes that giving him space will be helpful; will make it easier to decide what he really wants. Even so, you’re hoping, hoping he’ll choose to stay. 

You hear the blankets shifting barely a minute later.