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Angel Celeste never wanted to be a Star Detective Precure.
Mainly because she didn’t know what that meant, but the job found her anyway. She just couldn’t refuse a friend in need, so with a few choice words and a magic flip phone, she was now a full-fledged magical girl.
She never expected the job to be so exhausting. Not that she ever considered it a viable career path, but from what anime she’s seen, it was all posing and lights and sparkles. She didn’t expect to come home from a battle tired and sore, or for the very act of transformation to leave her with a constant pit of hunger in her stomach. She swears she’s running on fumes most days, and when that happens…
Angel glances at the clock on the wall. It’s only a little past ten, so it’s not like he’s late. Well, not that late. No matter how frustrated she gets with him, Nijee swears up and down that fashionably late doesn’t count as late.
Still, it makes her antsy. Angel shifts in place, kicks her feet, tries to bite back the welling frustration at regressing all alone. Nijee promised her that whenever she called, he’d come running. That she could be as small as she needed to, as long as she needed to, so why isn’t he here yet?
Thankfully, Angel can’t stew in her anxiety long before there’s a soft rap at her front door. She’s on her feet in seconds, yanking it open before she has time to think.
But it’s not Nijee.
It’s an old woman Angel has never seen in her life.
Angel’s heart sinks. Why didn’t she check the peephole first? What if it was an enemy? She’s already impulsive, but that impulsiveness only gets worse on the cusp of regression. She hadn’t been thinking, her scope narrowed until she saw nothing but her caregiver.
“Um, can I help you?” Angel twists her hands into the front of her sweatshirt, unable to help her shyness. Her brain buzzes with fuzzy panic, whispering stranger, stranger, don’t know, hide on a loop.
The old woman smiles, her grin tilting just a little too mischievous. “Why, I’m sure you can, Baby.”
If the old woman’s expression hadn’t given her away, the pointed use of baby certainly would have. Even disguised, Angel would recognize his cadence anywhere.
Her heart soars, and it takes every ounce of self-control not to shout his name and throw her arms around his neck.
It comes with the territory of discretion. Angel wishes they didn’t have to jump through all these hoops, that they could go where they want and not have to worry about who sees them, but a future like that isn’t in the cards. They’re stuck on opposite sides of a battle, and Angel would be lying if she said that wasn’t part of the appeal.
“Mhm!” Angel realizes too late that’s not how a big kid would talk, especially not one trying to be polite to a stranger. Oh well. She tried her best. “Please come in?”
Internally, she cringes, because her second attempt sounded poorer than the first, but she can’t bring herself to care. Not when she’s so close to the finish line. Not when she’s just getting permission to let her guard down.
Angel ushers Nijee inside and pushes the door shut. Her apartment is about as big as it is secure—which is to say, not very much at all—but for the rest of the night, it’s a fortress, a safe haven closed off from the rest of the world. Nothing can bother her here, and she revels in that fact.
With a swipe of his hand, Nijee dispels the illusion cloaking him. He’s at least made an effort to dress casually, clad in a hoodie and jeans. He hates both, but he tolerates the feeling for Angel’s sake. His hoodies quickly become her hoodies, and she finds immense comfort in her comfy clothes smelling like him.
Nijee grins and spreads his arms wide. From there, it’s official. No more Phantom Thieves’ Guild or Star Detective Precure. No us vs. them. Just Angel and Nijee.
Angel folds herself into his arms. She can’t help the way she melts, the knot in her chest finally starting to loosen.
“Long day?” Nijee croons. His fingers thread through her hair, his palm cupping the back of her skull.
“You’d know,” Angel grumbles, her voice coming out childishly petulant. After all, her days would be a lot shorter and a lot easier if a certain someone wasn’t getting in her way. And is that entirely fair? No, but she’s the baby here and she’s allowed to get a little bratty.
“Come on, Angel Baby,” he teases, like he wasn’t the one losing his composure during their last fight. “You know it’s all just business.”
“Business.” Yeah, right. Only if the business in question is getting on her last nerve. Angel glowers. No amount of special nicknames is going to save him now.
But he only grins. Nijee has a bad habit of only listening to half the words she says, especially when she’s regressed. And she’s not small yet, she’s just… very quickly getting there.
“Now you’re getting it!” Nijee claps his hands once, and Angel can’t help getting swept up in his enthusiasm. He’s always so eager to take care of her, always so happy to have her, that it assuages any anxieties that might crop up. “Now, what does my special little lady want to do today?”
Angel shudders. The idea of doing anything—other than curling up on the couch and sleeping off her headache—is enough to twist her stomach.
One of these days, they’ll do something fun. There’s nothing Angel wants more than to go to the zoo or a theme park or even just a coffee shop with her caregiver, but by the time she needs to regress, she’s so dead tired it never happens.
Sometimes she wonders if Nijee is annoyed their grander plans never pan out. He’s always the one to bring up the possibility of a little day out, and each time he mentions the litany of disguises he has picked out, but he never presses the issue further than that. Is he giving her space or is he glad he doesn’t have to bother? Angel never has the courage to ask.
“Oh, I know that face,” Nijee croons. Angel has no idea what he’s talking about, but Nijee’s become convinced he knows all of her regressed tells inside and out. The one he brings up the most often is her “tired face,” which she makes any time they have plans to leave the house. But again, Angel thinks he’s full of it. It’s just how her face looks.
Still, she offers no resistance as Nijee cups her cheeks, the warmth of his palms curving snugly around her jaw line. The faint scent of his cologne—something earthy but light, only a few drops on either wrist—wafts up to her nose.
“Has someone had a long day?” he asks, thumbing at her cheeks. “I always say you try too hard.”
Angel tries to speak, but only air comes out. Her words are gone for the rest of the day, it seems. It doesn’t really matter. Nijee always makes comments about her working too hard, whether it’s about being a hero or helping her friends. He doesn’t get it. How can she try too hard when so many people are depending on her?
Instead, she nods, and Nijee croons in sympathy. The cynic in her says his reasons—after all, the villains would have a field day if the heroes went on vacation—are selfishly motivated, but in the moment, it feels so nice.
You’re so tired. You’re so small. You work so hard. Don’t you ever give yourself a break? You need to be nicer to my baby, understand?
The words are a balm on her nerves, frayed and twitching, exposed and vulnerable. With a final gasping shudder, her walls gently collapse in on themselves, and she’s left standing in the rubble.
Nijee, self-proclaimed expert in reading her expressions, notices immediately. “Hi-hi, Angel Baby.”
The special nickname sends warmth cascading from the top of her head all the way down to the tips of her toes. Angel barely resists the urge to hide behind her hands.
“Well,” Nijee says, tugging her in for another hug, “why don’t I make you a nice bottle and we can snuggle for a bit? Does that sound nice?”
It sounds better than nice; it sounds perfect. The most perfect anything has sounded ever. Angel bobs her chin vigorously, and Nijee can’t resist pinching her cheeks before setting to work.
Nijee knows Angel’s apartment almost as well as she does. He knows she keeps her baby stuff in a single cabinet, hidden behind drink ware she never uses. There’s more than just the bottle. Sippy cups of every shape and size, some she can get away with having in public, even a couple of pacifiers, stashed away in the back.
She won’t need a pacifier tonight. She rarely does, so Nijee takes the bottle and a saucepan. Maybe Angel should be affronted that he rifles through her cabinets and fridge like he owns the place, but for now, it’s nice to have him taking the lead.
Angel lingers in the threshold of the kitchen, unsure what to do with herself. It’s a problem she rarely has, only when she’s little, and as a result, only Nijee knows how to handle it. She’ll never forget that look on his face the first time he realized confident, brash Angel might feel anything less than completely self-assured.
Nijee catches her eye, and his gaze only softens. It comes with the territory of being her caregiver, and he adores every second. “What are you doing over there? I need my supervisor,” he tells her. “Who else will tell me if I’m doing it wrong?”
A smile teases at Angel’s lips. He’s made angel milk for her so many times that she doubts he could mess it up if he tried. But she does like the idea of bossing him around, so she shuffles over.
“One, two… up!” With surprising ease, Nijee lifts her onto the counter, sitting her up nice and tall to better watch him work. Practice has made him quick and efficient, and it feels like no time at all before her bottle is filled with milk.
“There we go,” Nijee hums. He gives the bottle a final shake. “Angel milk for my Angel Baby.”
Angel takes the bottle, holding it close to her chest. The warmth bleeds through the glass and presses gently against her skin. Those last fraying threads of her adulthood finally snap loose, fuzzy calm filling her ears. She extends her free arm, silently asking to be carried.
Of course, Nijee is more than happy to oblige. He doesn’t have the strength to tote her around like he wants to, but a quick trip from the kitchen to the living room couch is manageable. Angel just… politely averts her eyes when Nijee is painfully out of breath by the end of it. He recovers his bravado in a matter of seconds.
“What are we watching?” he asks, but the answer doesn’t matter, as long as it’s not the news.
The last thing Angel needs after a long day is a reminder of the villains she had to fight, the people she’s saved and the people she couldn’t. The mere thought is enough for her to squeeze her eyes shut, until the sounds of a game show permeate the quiet.
Nijee smoothes a hand through her hair. “It’s alright,” he murmurs, voice pitching that special soft, the “for her ears only” kind of soft. “No more big thoughts.”
No more big thoughts. Angel takes that sentiment and holds onto it with both hands, but there’s only one way to banish it. She hands Nijee her bottle.
“Oh, for me?” He feigns surprise, as if this isn’t their routine, a highly choreographed dance where each step is equally important. “Thank you, baby.”
Nijee takes Angel into his lap, arranging her so her cheek is pressing against his chest, just close enough to feel the gentle pulse of his heartbeat. One hand cradles her back while the other holds the bottle, and with a chuckle and a grin, he guides the nub to her mouth.
The second Angel gets that first taste, she melts against Nijee. The thing that always surprises her about headspace is how she can let go, a dozen different ways, in rapid succession. Every time, she thinks she’s met the final hurdle, and Nijee does something to make her smaller and smaller still.
For a while, she keeps her eyes fixed on the bottle, on the milk slowly draining, on the cartoon characters printed on the side, but her attention strays and she stares at Nijee instead. Once he has her attention, he smiles broadly.
“Hi, Angel Baby. Taste good?”
It takes embarrassingly long for Angel to realize this is a question she should answer. She bobs her chin, face flushing, but Nijee doesn’t call her out on it. He simply leans in, pressing their foreheads together, and breathes in the moment. The game show playing in the background swells in volume, then fades out, and Angel’s eyes slip shut as she drifts, peaceful in this moment.
The outside world doesn’t matter. Her responsibilities don’t matter. Nothing does, not here, not now.
It’s just her and Nijee, nestled comfortably in their own little bubble of safety, content and calm and so, so safe. Angel will leave in the morning.
But only when she’s ready.