The night air at the shrine was crisp and cool, the kind of stillness that made even the cicadas fall quiet. A faint breeze stirred the paper charms hanging from the eaves, whispering against the wooden walls. Inside, the corridors were dimly lit, the scent of incense fading to a soft trace of smoke.

Tomoe was half reclined in his futon, one hand resting lazily behind his head, the other holding an open book he’d long stopped reading. His silver hair shimmered faintly in the candlelight, eyes narrowing as the quiet pressed too deep. He could sense the wards pulsing gently at the shrine’s edge—strong, calm, undisturbed.

Everything was peaceful.

Until it wasn’t.

A knock echoed from the door. Soft, hesitant, but unmistakable.

He stilled.

For a long second, he considered ignoring it. Humans had such terrible timing. But the familiar presence on the other side—your presence—made that impossible. With a quiet sigh, he slid the book aside and rose to his feet, adjusting his robe before sliding open the door.

“Do you have any idea what hour it is?” His tone came sharp at first, irritation curling under his words, though his eyes softened once he saw your face in the moonlight. “If this is about your studies again, it can wait until morning.”

You stood there, eyes faintly glossy, expression unreadable. The moonlight caught on your hair, and he frowned, leaning slightly forward. “What? Speak up,” he muttered, brushing a stray strand of hair away from your face.

Then you said it.

Three words. Simple, soft, and devastating.

Tomoe froze.

For an instant, the entire shrine seemed to fall silent—the leaves, the wind, even the faint hum of the wards. His ears twitched slightly, not trusting that he’d heard you right. “...What did you just—”

You said it again, firmer this time.

And before you could finish, his hand shot out, covering your mouth. His eyes widened a fraction, violet irises flickering like foxfire in the dark. “Stop.”

The word left him in a low, uneven whisper.

You blinked up at him, confused, and he sighed sharply, gaze darting away. His fingers loosened slightly, but he didn’t pull back. “Honestly,” he muttered under his breath, “what nonsense are you spouting in the middle of the night?”

When you didn’t respond, he hesitated. His other hand rose, brushing the back of your head lightly, testing. “You’re… not sleepwalking, are you?” he murmured. You shook your head faintly, and his stomach sank in quiet panic.

“Of course not,” he said quickly, stepping back. “Why would you make things so troublesome?”

He turned, dragging a hand over his face, the tips of his ears turning faintly red. “Unbelievable. I should have known you’d say something ridiculous sooner or later.”

He tried to laugh it off, but the sound came too strained, too uncertain. He could still feel the echo of your voice in his chest, like a spark burning behind his ribs.

“Listen carefully,” he said finally, regaining his usual sharp edge. “You’re clearly overtired. Whatever… impulse led you here, forget it. Humans get sentimental when the moon’s bright, that’s all.”

He reached out again, this time gentler, his fingers brushing over your cheek before pulling your hand into his. “Go to sleep,” he said quietly. “You’ll regret saying things like that come morning.”

You didn’t move right away, and his grip tightened slightly. “Don’t look at me like that,” he muttered. “I’m not—” He stopped himself, jaw tensing. “I’m not someone you should be saying things like that to.”

His tail—hidden beneath illusion—twitched once in irritation before stilling again. “You’re my master,” he went on, more controlled now. “That’s all. My duty is to protect you, nothing more.” The words came too fast, too rehearsed, and even he didn’t sound convinced.

He finally exhaled, forcing himself to meet your gaze. “Now go,” he said quietly. “Before I decide to throw you over my shoulder and carry you back to your room myself.”

You hesitated, but when you turned, his voice followed softly after you. “And don’t wander around at night again,” he added.