The apartment had quieted into a slow, thoughtful rhythm.
Evening settled like a blanket over the city, casting the walls in a soft amber hue as streetlights blinked to life outside. The low hum of distant traffic was the only noise beyond the occasional creak of old floorboards expanding in the evening chill.
Sam lay still, bandaged and worn, drifting somewhere between sleep and awareness. His breathing was even now—shallow, but steady. Each inhale pulled in the faint, grounding scent of miso, cotton, and something softly floral he couldn't name.
He didn't open his eyes. But he knew he wasn't alone.
Tiche was there, of course—leaning silently against the far wall, arms folded, eternally poised. Watchful. A silent sentinel more statue than woman. But she wasn't the only one.
Koneko sat cross-legged in the corner of his room, perched on a spare cushion dragged in from the other room. Her arms rested loosely on her knees. Her eyes were half-lidded—not asleep, not fully awake—watching.
She hadn't said much when the others left. She simply lingered, then followed Tiche back inside as if the decision had already been made.
Neither of them spoke. They didn't need to.
The scent in the room was stronger now—Perfumer at full bloom in the still air. It was subtle to Sam, unnoticed as always, but to the others, it wrapped around them like memory. For Koneko, it had changed shape multiple times over the past hour—flickering between warm milk, fresh cotton, and something she couldn't quite place but didn't want to leave.
She didn't fidget or comment. Just breathed deeper, as if the stillness was a kind of answer.
Tiche watched her with quiet curiosity. But she said nothing.
The silence lingered, unbroken.
Then, from the bed—soft, hoarse, but unmistakably dry with sarcasm:
"…You two are great conversationalists."
Both women glanced his way.
His eyes were barely open—just enough to show the hint of a smirk.
Koneko blinked once. "You talk enough for all three of us."
That earned a huff of air—something like a laugh, but half-caught in pain.
Tiche's expression didn't change. But her arms relaxed slightly. The corners of her mouth twitched, just enough to be real.
Then the quiet returned. Comfortable. Steady.
The smell of warm broth drifted faintly in from the kitchen.
Someone had to keep watch.
Days passed in a gentle loop.
Sam healed faster than he had any right to.
What should've taken weeks—maybe months, by any medical standard—was instead unraveling over days. Muscle bruises faded. Bone-deep aches dulled. Torn skin began to knit itself together beneath the bandages. It wasn't painless, and he was far from whole, but the change was undeniable.
Enhanced Vitality was working. Quietly, relentlessly. Mending what should've left him bedridden for the rest of spring.
He still couldn't stand for long, and too much motion sent lightning through his ribs—but his mind stayed sharp, and the hours between sleep no longer felt like dying.
Thankfully, he wasn't alone.
Tiche remained his shadow through every morning and most nights—never tired, never far. She cooked when needed, cleaned with quiet efficiency, and, when Sam was lucid enough to comment, sometimes even smirked at his jokes.
But it was the evenings that shifted into something new.
The rotation began naturally.
Koneko took the first night shift after the interrogation—unspoken, but expected. She didn't ask. She simply returned, a small duffel bag in hand, and set up a futon at the foot of his bed. Tight fit, but she made it work. She didn't talk much, but she brought a gaming system the second night and wordlessly handed him a controller. He couldn't do much but mash buttons with one hand, but she let him win anyway.
"Don't get used to it," she muttered once, adjusting her position with a small pillow thump. "You're injured. I'm being nice."
Sam, dryly: "This is the nicest anyone's ever been while beating me in a boss fight."
Koneko's lips twitched. She didn't deny it.
The next evening, Momo arrived—nervous at first, clutching a binder of notes like a lifeline. She didn't hover. Instead, she pulled up a chair near his bed and gently walked him through the day's classes.
"You don't need to worry about tests," she said softly, flipping through her notes. "Rias-sama and Sona-sama are handling it. But I figured... maybe listening would help pass the time?"
It did. Even if Sam didn't retain half of it. Her voice was soothing, and her patience filled the room like sunlight on fog.
She brought snacks. Sam wasn't sure if they were for him or herself. He didn't ask.
Yura came the night after, dropping her bag with a thud and grinning like someone who'd been itching for this.
"So. You really fought one of them off, huh?" she asked, plopping into the chair with elbows on her knees. "Give it to me straight. How'd it feel to punch a flying creep out of the sky?"
Sam blinked. "Painful. Mostly on my end."
"Yeah, but you did it." Her eyes gleamed. "With claws. I'm hearing claws."
Sam held up his still-splinted fingers. "Lightning claws."
Yura looked genuinely impressed. "You gotta teach me that when you're up again."
She didn't stay quiet long—firing questions, asking for details, trying to coax him into replaying the fight blow by blow. It was exhausting and weirdly invigorating. At least someone saw the mess as a badge of honor.
Through it all, Tiche remained a constant—silent at the door, perched in the kitchen, or sitting cross-legged near the window. Always watching. Always ready. Her presence was background music—comforting, firm, and absolute.
None of them said it aloud, but Sam knew.
He was being guarded.
Not just protected—but watched over. Each of them had their own reason. Duty. Curiosity. Affection, maybe. But none of them wavered.
The room grew familiar with them in it.
And for the first time since the fight, Sam began to believe he might actually be safe.
Seven days.
That's how long it had been since the fight.
It no longer hurt to breathe. His ribs twinged occasionally, but the fire was gone. His legs held weight again. His side only ached if he twisted too hard. The bruises had faded from violent purple to faint shadows.
And he couldn't sit still.
Enhanced Vitality still hummed under his skin, but now Enhanced Stamina added its own thrum to the current. Together, they didn't just mend him—they lit a fuse. His body, newly mended and flush with energy, was buzzing.
Not enough to run laps or lift weights—but definitely enough to pace the room, flex his fingers, and want to do things. To move.
Unfortunately, his guards disagreed.
"You're still on house arrest," Tiche said flatly, leaning against the doorframe with arms crossed.
Sam rolled his eyes and half-stretched. "You're aware I'm not made of glass, right?"
"You're made of almost dead human," she replied.
"Was almost dead. Now I'm just bruised and bored."
Her expression didn't shift. That was her version of no.
Later that afternoon, Koneko arrived for her usual evening shift.
She blinked once, taking in Sam doing careful squats in the middle of the living room, shirt half-clinging to his still-bandaged torso. The scent hit her almost immediately—a subtle blend of warmth and something faintly citrus, mingled with clean sweat and a deeper undertone she couldn't quite name. Her favorite scent, woven so naturally into the air she didn't realize she was breathing deeper until she caught herself.
Perfumer was active again.
And underneath that… something else. A gentler pressure, an almost imperceptible tug toward him. Lethal Charm didn't dominate—barely stirred, really—but it edged into her instincts like the whisper of a magnet pulling against her awareness.
"You're not supposed to be doing that."
"I'm not. These are illegal ghost squats. Totally different."
Koneko stared.
Then slowly, silently, set her game console on the table like a challenge. Sam groaned.
"Okay, I get it. Sit down. Don't die."
She popped a controller into his hand, already booting up the menu. "Button mashing is better than nerve damage."
Momo was more forgiving.
She walked in to find Sam doing one-armed pushups on a towel, his breath even but skin flushed from exertion. The apartment smelled… nice. Too nice. She blinked as the warmth of sandalwood and something floral settled into her awareness, oddly soothing in a way she hadn't expected.
"What is that smell?"
Sam glanced up. "Soap. Probably."
Perfumer at it again—though he never noticed.
"Oh my God—stop that," she said, dropping her school bag and rushing over.
"I'm fine. I'm like, fifty-three percent healed."
"That's… not how healing works!"
"It is if you round up."
Despite her exasperation, Momo eventually helped him to the couch, gave him water, and then plopped next to him with a new stack of notes.
"You're going to set your ribs again if you're not careful."
"I think they're done setting. They're bored now. Like me."
She sighed—but couldn't quite hide the smile behind her notes.
Yura entered during one of Sam's victory stretches.
"Look at you—full-on walking and talking again. Miracle man."
"I'm just trying not to atrophy."
The smell hit her second—sharp and strangely clean, with a sporty musk underneath. It reminded her of pre-battle tension before a duel. Not overwhelming—just... there. Familiar. Inviting.
"You've got more muscle than half the kendo club before you got mauled."
Sam raised a brow. "...Thanks?"
She grinned, tossing him a sports drink. "Don't get cocky. You still need a babysitter."
"I prefer 'combat witness.' Or 'post-battle consultant.'"
She leaned against the wall, arms crossed. "You're really not gonna tell me how you landed that claw uppercut?"
"Trade secret."
"I'll crack you eventually." She winked. "Dirty fighters are my type."
He gave a tired smirk. "You and everyone else."
Twelve days.
That's how long it had been since the fight.
The pain was gone—mostly. The worst of the wounds had sealed and faded to tender bruises. His side, once torn and bleeding, now throbbed only if he twisted wrong. The stiffness in his joints had melted away, and his breath came easy again.
He was, by all accounts, functioning.
Still healing in the fine print, sure—but no longer on anyone's critical watchlist.
"Well," Tiche said, arms crossed as she stared him down, "you're officially downgraded from 'walking corpse' to 'reckless idiot.' Congratulations."
Sam grinned. "Is that your way of saying I'm free?"
"Free-ish," she muttered, brushing past him. "Don't push it."
The decision had been unanimous. Even Momo, cautious to a fault, had nodded when she checked in that morning. Yura tossed him a thumbs-up and an energy drink like it was a war medal. And Tiche had said nothing—but the fact that she didn't glue herself to the doorway afterward said plenty.
Only Koneko had taken the news badly.
She stood stiff in the corner of the living room, game console already unplugged and cradled under one arm like a hostage. Her mouth was a flat line. Her expression unreadable.
"You good?" Sam asked, stretching his arms with a wince.
She didn't answer at first. Her ears twitched.
Then: "You'll stop needing guards."
"Yeah," he said. "That's the point of healing."
A beat.
Then, quietly: "…Stupid."
Sam blinked. "Which part?"
But she was already heading for the door.
[Koneko]
The hallway was too quiet after the door shut behind her.
Koneko walked in silence, her steps soft on the tile, her hands buried in the sleeves of her hoodie. The air outside Sam's apartment felt colder—emptier—like stepping out of warmth and into a shell of it.
She didn't look back.
Didn't need to.
Tiche had said the rotations were ending. That Sam was nearly back to normal. That her job—her reason—for being there was done.
Good.
That was good.
She pulled her hood up tighter and leapt to the rooftop in a single, smooth motion.
The wind was sharp this high up. It should've cleared her head.
But it didn't.
She could still smell him.
Faint, but insistent—woven into the cotton of her sleeves, clinging to her uniform like a whisper she couldn't quite shut out. Not cologne. Not soap. Something else.
Warmth. Cedar. That damn spice again.
Her nose wrinkled, and she yanked the hoodie off like it had burned her.
It hadn't. Obviously. That would've made more sense.
Koneko stared at the bundle in her hands. Her brow knit tighter. Her tail twitched once behind her.
"…Stupid smell."
She sat down on the rooftop edge, legs drawn up to her chest, hoodie clutched in her lap like a scolded cat. The moonlight brushed over her face, silver and clean.
She wasn't stupid. She knew something was happening. She'd felt it for days. The strange calm when he was around. The way her thoughts tangled more than usual. The tug of attention, the heat at the edges of her control.
It wasn't just him.
It was something on him.
And whatever it was, it was cheating.
She hated that she noticed.
She hated even more that it didn't feel bad.
After a long pause, Koneko pressed the hoodie to her nose.
Inhaled once.
Just once.
Then she let it sit in her lap again, arms folded, expression unreadable.
She didn't say anything else.
She didn't need to.