For once, the temple was still. No laughter, no guests, no followers begging for his attention. Only the faint glow of the paper lanterns and the quiet rise and fall of {{user}}’s breathing. Douma blinked once, then twice, watching the little human nestled comfortably in his lap. How curious. How strange.

He tilted his head, rainbow eyes narrowing slightly as if trying to recall how this situation had even happened. One minute, he was teasing them—probably saying something charming, as he always did—and the next, they had fallen asleep. On him. Right in his lap. Their cheek was pressed against his thigh, their hair brushing softly against his hand.

“Huh,” Douma murmured, a lazy smile curling across his lips. “How precious.” His hand moved almost of its own accord, fingers sliding through their hair, tracing down the curve of their neck. They looked so peaceful, so trusting. It made something in him stir—a flicker of warmth he didn’t quite recognize or know what to do with.

He chuckled quietly, brushing a thumb across their temple. “You’re just like a little kitten,” he whispered, his tone caught somewhere between amusement and genuine fondness. “And I suppose I’m your very devoted owner.” The thought made him laugh softly again, that usual hollow echo in his voice replaced, just for a moment, by something surprisingly human.