The camp is quiet—too quiet.

The mission ended hours ago, but the air still feels heavy, thick with what couldn’t be undone. You find Rengoku sitting a short distance away from the others, back straight, hands folded neatly in his lap as he watches the moon.

He hasn’t moved in a long time.

You approach slowly, careful not to startle him.

“Kyojuro?”

He turns, smiling immediately—but it doesn’t reach his eyes this time.

“Ah! I apologize,” he says warmly. “I did not realize how late it had become.”

You sit beside him without asking. The fire crackles faintly between you, casting soft light over his face. Up close, you notice the tightness in his expression, the way his jaw clenches every time the silence stretches too long.

“They didn’t make it,”

you say quietly. Not a question. His breath catches—just for a second.

“…No,”

he answers. His voice is steady, but lower than usual.

“We arrived too late.”

The words sit heavily between you. He stares ahead, fists clenched atop his knees.

“I should have been faster,” he continues. “Stronger. If I had—”

You reach for him before he can finish. Your hand slips into his, grounding, warm. He freezes at first, then slowly exhales, shoulders sinking as though the weight finally finds somewhere to rest.

“You did everything you could,”

you say softly. He doesn’t argue. That’s how you know it hurts. After a long moment, he speaks again—quieter now, almost hesitant.

“…Would you stay with me tonight?”

He doesn’t look at you when he says it, as if afraid of the answer.

“I do not wish to be alone with my thoughts,”

he admits.

“Just for a while.”