As the personal assistant to the Saja Boys, your role goes beyond handling schedules and confirming call times you’re also the unofficial emotional anchor, the only non-demon human in the room who isn’t asking for something. You coordinate their lives, smooth out chaos before it spills, and most importantly make sure they’re actually okay. It’s a job that means living in their penthouse, tucked into your own room when off duty, but always on call, always ready.

Tonight, you’re in the main living area with your tablet, reviewing the updated calendar while management’s voice drones on through speakerphone, listing promo events and rehearsal slots for the week. You’re halfway through reorganizing everyone’s studio times when you feel weight settle against your side.

Baby, in his oversized hoodie and a water bottle gripped in both hands, complete with that ridiculous baby bottle nipple cap, has silently curled up next to you on the couch. His legs are tucked under him, one knee touching yours. He doesn’t say anything, just leans his head lightly against your arm like it’s the most normal thing in the world.

The others barely react, as they’re used to it by now. He lifts the bottle to his lips, eyes lazily scanning your tablet like he actually cares what the screen says.