Why You Should Never Rescue Stray Demons Chapter 68

**KACIA**

He places the bowl on the coffee table, then attempts to juggle three pieces of wrapped chocolate. He lasts about four seconds before he totally loses control. Two bounce off the couch, the third lands in my lap, and somehow in the chaos of him trying to catch the chocolates, the popcorn bowl tips, raining buttery kernels everywhere. He freezes. There is a long silence.

“That… It was the tail’s fault.” He says solemnly.

“Oh, clearly.” I reply, deadpan. He drops onto the couch beside me and starts brushing popcorn off my blanket. 

“Don’t tell Clarence.” He comments. I frown. 

“Why Clarence?” I wonder and he shrugs. 

“I have no idea, but for some odd reason I desperately want his approval.” Oz says with a frown. I want to laugh, but weirdly, I kind of do too? Still, I can’t help but mock him a little. 

“I’m telling everyone.” I declare. 

“You’re cruel.” He accuses.

“You’re dramatic.” I throw back. We settle back into the cushions again, popcorn forgotten, and the movie resumes in the background. Oz slings an arm around the back of the couch, and after a few seconds I lean into him again without thinking. This time, he doesn’t tease. He just quietly tucks a hand around my shoulder and pulls me in. It’s a soft, wordless gesture. But it means almost as much as his flirting and teasing. He’s warm. Solid… And he’s here. And despite everything… That feels like something. Towards the end of the second movie, I catch myself watching him again, really watching him. The curve of his jaw, the way his thumb strokes absent mindedly against my shoulder through the blanket. This demon who was meant to kill me. But has been at my side ever since, protecting me like it’s the most natural thing in the world while simultaneously invading my life until it started to feel natural having him around all the time. And now? Now he’s doing everything in his power to make me laugh because he can tell I’m hurting and doesn’t know how else to help. I don’t want to think about how much that means. I don’t want to admit that the idea of losing him, of him leaving, makes my chest ache in a way that has nothing to do with broken ribs. But the thought stays with me. Lingers in the corner of my mind even as I relax against him.

“Kacia? You okay?” Oz murmurs after a while, voice lower now. I know he’s being serious because he used my actual name. I nod, still curled up against his chest.

“Just thinking about stupid things.” I murmur. 

“You want to talk about it?” He asks. I shake my head. 

“Not yet.” I answer. I’m too comfortable. I want to just enjoy this for now. He doesn’t press. He just hums softly and starts stroking my hair, gentle and slow. After a little while, my eyelids grow heavy. The pain in my ribs fades to a dull throb, probably because I’ve stopped moving around so much. The rhythm of his heartbeat under my cheek, his warmth, the sound of the TV… It’s all so soothing. Oz leans in, lips brushing the top of my head.

“Told you, I’m better than a weighted blanket.” He whispers smugly. I murmur something unintelligible in protest, but it comes out slurred and soft. I think I hear him chuckle. I drift off not long after that, safe in his arms, wrapped in warmth and blankets and a feeling I’m not quite ready to say out loud yet, but feel all the same.

I wake hours later to the soft shuffle of movement, Angelo creeping around the living room like a quiet little ghost. Blinking against the dim light, I realise I’m still curled up on the couch... And I’m not alone. Oz is fast asleep beside me, his head tilted back against the cushion, breathing slow and even. One arm is draped securely around my back, and his tail, because of course, has curled itself around my thigh like it has a mind of its own. Even in sleep, he’s careful. His hand doesn’t press too tightly against my ribs, and his body is angled in such a way that I’m supported but not squished. It's stupidly considerate. And stupidly sweet. The room is dark now, only the faint glow from the hallway offering any light. We must have been asleep for hours. I shift slightly and spot Angelo across the room. He’s meticulously picking up every last rogue piece of popcorn from the floor, one at a time, with the solemnity of someone arranging items on an altar.

“I can help with that.” I whisper, trying not to wake Oz. Angelo freezes mid reach and slowly turns toward me with a look of deep, silent betrayal. It’s the same expression I imagine he’d give if I kicked over a prized houseplant or committed tax fraud in front of him.

“Sorry?” I add, confused by the glare.

“If you are going to keep sleeping, you should go to your bed and rest properly.” He says crisply, his voice low and sharp like my mother’s when I leave dishes in the sink. It is somehow both a suggestion and an order. 

“Right. Sorry, Angelo, we shouldn’t be taking up the couch anyway. It’s your bed. We kind of stole it.” I say sheepishly. 

“You don’t have to-” He starts, his voice softer, but trails off as I begin to gently nudge Oz awake. He stirs slowly, blinking like a cat woken from a sunbeam. His gaze lands on me first, then drifts to the room around us.

“Oops.” He mutters, voice low and gravelly with sleep.

“Didn’t mean to fall asleep. Sorry, Angelo. We’ll get out of your way.” He immediately says, clearly on the same wavelength as me. Before I can move on my own, he slips an arm under my knees and the other around my back, lifting me effortlessly. It’s like my protest doesn’t even register.

“I can walk, you know.” I grumble softly against his chest, though I don’t really mind. Not at all.

“I know, I’m the one who isn’t ready to let you go just yet.” He murmurs, not looking at me as he starts down the hall. The words hit me harder than I expect. Not just because they’re sweet, but because he says them so casually, not a hint of embarrassment. Like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. And maybe to him, it is. I rest my head against his shoulder and let him carry me the rest of the way.

Oz is infuriatingly gentle with me. He carries me all the way to my bedroom then sets about tucking me in like I’m something fragile and precious. The way his hands smooth the blanket over my legs, the careful way he adjusts the pillow beneath my head, it makes my chest ache in a whole new way, and not just because of the bruises. He climbs in beside me a moment later, like he’s been doing it for years. And just like before, his arms wrap around me, pulling me gently back against his chest. I let him. I think I would let him do just about anything right now. The warmth of him surrounds me, his heartbeat a steady thump against my spine. His tail brushes lightly against my ankle and settles there, the way it always seems to when he’s relaxed. 

“Are you feeling okay? I can get you more painkillers.”He murmurs against my hair. I shake my head, the movement small. 

“I’m alright. I’ll take some in the morning.” There’s a long pause. The kind that stretches out and fills with a thousand things unsaid. I stare at the shadows on my bedroom wall, trying to decide if I have the guts to speak up. My ribs hurt if I breathe too deep, so I don’t. But I still gather the courage to say the next thing, even if it comes out with far more forced casualness than I’d intended.

“I do think that you should kiss me, though.” I whisper. I feel him freeze behind me. Just for a moment. Like I’ve short circuited his brain. Then, slowly, he pulls back just enough to look at my face, eyes scanning mine for any sign that I’m joking. Or delirious. Or unsure. I meet his gaze steadily, even if my heart is pounding a chaotic rhythm against my sore ribs. It doesn’t take long for him to find his answer. His face breaks into a slow, smug as hell grin. That familiar glint sparks in his eyes, cocky and charming and unbearably fond. 

“Well, if the lady insists.” He murmurs. Then he leans in and kisses me. It’s not rushed. Not desperate. Just warm, and soft, and slow. Like he’s trying to make absolutely certain that I feel every inch of it. One of his hands slides up to cradle my cheek, fingers brushing my hair back gently. The other remains splayed at my waist, holding me steady but careful of my injuries. 

The kiss deepens slightly and for a moment, everything else disappears beneath the press of Oz’s mouth against mine. When we eventually break apart, his forehead rests lightly against mine, his breath mingling with mine in the quiet.

“Okay.” I whisper, barely able to form the word. I’m not even sure what I mean by it. 

“Just okay? Should I try again?” Oz teases, his voice a soft rasp. 

“I mean, only if you want to, I’d hate to put you out.” I say jokingly. He fakes a sigh.

“I think I can suffer through it.” He responds with a mischievous smirk. Damn, I think I’m in for it now.