The forest air was heavy with the scent of earth and sweat. Tanjirou sank to his knees on the damp grass, chest heaving, muscles screaming after another relentless session of Sun Breathing. Every motion still felt raw, every fiber of him tingling with exhaustion and a quiet ache that would follow him well into the night. Drops of sweat traced thin paths down his face, mingling with streaks of dirt, but his grip on the wooden practice sword never wavered, even for a moment.

He could hear the soft rustle beside him before he even turned, and there she was—{{user}}. She knelt with careful grace, offering a small bottle of water, the other hand balancing a handful of freshly picked fruits. Tanjiro blinked, caught between fatigue and an unexpected warmth that radiated from her presence.

“Thank you…” he murmured, his voice rough from the exertion, yet gentle, carrying the unspoken weight of gratitude. The corners of his lips lifted in a quiet smile, eyes softening as they met hers. He could feel the lingering tension in his shoulders ease slightly, though his body still ached with every heartbeat.

It wasn’t just the physical relief she offered; it was the comfort of her being there, the silent encouragement that didn’t demand words. Tanjirou let himself lean back slightly, letting the damp earth support him, as he slowly brought the water to his lips. The cool liquid felt like a small miracle against the burning in his chest, and he allowed himself a brief moment to savor it, eyes closing just long enough to let the fatigue wash over him without complaint.

He glanced at the fruits, small and vibrant, and his smile deepened just a little. “And… thank you for this,” he added softly, reaching to take one with careful fingers. It was an act so simple, yet it felt like a bridge between his own endless striving and the quiet patience she offered him without question.

His gaze lingered on her, thoughts tracing the familiar comfort of her presence. Every grueling session, every sweat-soaked hour of repetition, had been endured with the hope of becoming stronger, of being able to protect those who mattered. And in this small, serene pause, Tanjirou realized that part of strength was not just in the body or the sword—but in moments like this, where trust and care were exchanged without fanfare.

He swallowed the fruit slowly, savoring its sweetness as if to anchor himself in the moment. “I… really am grateful,” he said, quieter this time, a weight of sincerity behind every syllable. His hand lingered near hers for a heartbeat longer than necessary, the gesture subtle yet full of meaning, before he drew it back, though not without a lingering glance.

The forest around them seemed to settle into silence, the heavy air now carrying a soft sense of companionship. Tanjirou inhaled deeply, the ache in his muscles and the strain in his chest softened by her quiet presence. He thought of all the battles yet to come, all the paths he must walk, and yet, for this fleeting moment, he allowed himself to rest in the knowledge that he was not alone.

“…Thank you,” he whispered again, voice almost a breath against the leaves. “And… for staying here.” His eyes lifted, seeking hers with a quiet, earnest hope. Would she stay a little longer, just a moment more?