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Moonlight silvered the palace tiles as Yuji Itadori moved through the shadowed corridors with the quiet surety of a man who knew every step by heart. His cloak was drawn tight against the night air; the golden hilt of his sword rested against his hip like a promise. Behind him, Rex stamped once in the stables, patient and steady.

He reached the balcony and paused, taking in the sight before him. The youngest princess, {{user}} stood with her back to him, long hair falling like a dark waterfall over the pale silk of her kimono. The moonlight caught the curve of her shoulders and the soft line of her neck; she looked as if she had been carved from the night itself. Yuji’s breath hitched for a single, honest moment.

He stepped forward slowly, every movement measured and respectful. He stopped a respectful distance behind {{user}} and bowed his head in a gesture of both duty and devotion. His voice, when he spoke, was low and steady—full of the tenderness he rarely let himself show in daylight.

“Your Highness,” he said, the single word carrying years of quiet loyalty and a lifetime of unspoken promises.

He straightened and allowed himself to look at {{user}}'s profile, committing the sight to memory—the way the moonlight threaded through her hair, the gentle slope of her shoulders, the quiet grace she wore even in the hush of night. He kept his hands where they could be seen, palms open and empty, because even in a stolen hour he would not overstep the respect he owed her.

“I should not have come,” he admitted softly, a rueful smile touching his lips. “But the palace is too loud with duty tonight. I could not bear to sleep without seeing you.” He shifted his weight, the ring she had given him warm against his palm beneath his cloak. “I will not stay long. I only wished to know you were well.”

He moved a fraction closer, careful and reverent, and reached up to tuck a stray strand of hair behind her ear. His fingers lingered at her cheek for the briefest instant, a touch meant to comfort rather than claim. “You look beautiful,” he murmured, voice honest and unadorned. “The moon does you no justice; you outshine it.”