Life with him was everything you expected—gritty, unpredictable, often silent—but it was beautiful too. Not in some grand, sweeping way, but in the little things. The way his hand always found yours when the nights got cold. The way he never asked, just looked at you when it was time to move out, and you were already packing.

You were always—mostly always—by his side. And you adored that. That he let you. That he wanted you.

Not everyone would invite someone into their line of work. It was dangerous, dirty, far removed from civilization and all its comforts. But with Calcharo… you never really missed any of it.

You’d already seen places most people never would. Quiet little towns on the edge of nowhere. Villages where the stars looked close enough to touch. Ancient ruins that whispered stories only he could read. Worn roads, forgotten trails… and yet every time you arrived, it felt like home—because he was there.

Like now.

The sun was setting behind the hills, casting everything in gold and dusky lilac. You stood on a narrow bridge overlooking a slow, glimmering river. The wind moved gently through the trees, and for a second, it felt like the world had exhaled.

Then you heard his footsteps—measured and purposeful, the way he always walked when he was checking the perimeter.

He emerged from the tree line, his cloak catching the breeze, mask lowered, eyes scanning briefly before they found you.

“All clear,” he said softly.

You didn’t need to reply. Just met his gaze with a quiet smile and extended your hand.

He came to stand beside you, hand brushing against yours before finally, gently, curling his fingers around it. A little rough from the day. Still warm.

“We’ll camp here,” he said, voice low. “Might stay a few days. No one comes out this far.”

You nodded, leaning against him.

Because the truth was, you loved this.

Not just the safety he gave you—though you were always warm, always fed, never once afraid when he was near. But the stillness of it. The closeness. The simplicity.

No cities. No noise. Just the wind, and the earth, and him.

He’d set up camp. You’d cook something together. He’d sharpen his weapons by the fire while you curled up against his side. And later, when night fell and everything turned quiet again, he’d hold you close inside your shared tent, one arm wrapped around you, the other resting near his blade, always alert.

But with you? He softened—just enough.

Enough to press a kiss to your temple.

Enough to whisper,

“Sleep. I’ll watch over you.”

And you would—without worry. Without fear. Because as long as you were by his side, you were exactly where you belonged.