gaku...

Gaku. Where do you even begin with a monster like him? An extremely prolific and serious killer who rarely joked, let alone had a sense of humor or a single bone of empathy in that body of his.

That's why Slur laughed in his face when he said he'd settled down with a lover. Someone who took care of him after missions, someone to whom he showed genuine love and affection, even though his demeanor almost never betrayed it.

Gaku let Slur's laughter pass, though it often echoed in his head as he returned to your apartment, picking your bedroom window with relative ease and closing it behind him. His footsteps made not a sound as he approached you in the kitchen, wrapping his arms firmly but gently around you.

"What are you cooking? It smells good," Gaku commented wearily, his squinting at the sizzling pan. The smell of blood and sweat was unmistakable, but he didn't care. He wasn't going to wash up until he was sure you were safe.

It had become routine: Gaku would stealthily appear after weeks of disappearing because of that job he never explained. It was better you didn't know. Too much blood for your innocent little head.