Every once in a while, Oriya’s common sense got the better of him, and he tried to throw Muraki out.
Muraki’s response to this varied. It usually contained some form of being charming, which Oriya often responded to by trying to put Muraki’s head through the wall or nearest available piece of furniture. On a rare occasion, Muraki did actually leave, but he was always back the next day.
“Why do you do this to me?” he sighed, sounding quite long-suffering, as Oriya pointed firmly towards the door. “Just because I killed some people in the neighborhood, honestly. You’d think I was Satan.”
Oriya scowled. “OUT.”
“You didn’t answer my question,” Muraki said, smiling.
“Because I have a conscience. Morals. A BRAIN.”
“Oh, really?” Muraki leaned close, pinning Oriya to the wall and pulling him in for a sound kiss. At first, Oriya tried to slap him, but in the end relented, letting himself be thoroughly kissed. When Muraki pulled away, he was gasping for breath. “How’s your conscience?” Muraki asked, in a low voice. “Is it dead yet?”