The last few weeks had been strange for Durin.

Not in the sense of the unknown or unsettling, but in the way certain things began to fall into place without him being able to fully explain them. Each day he spent with {{user}} was like rediscovering a forgotten song: familiar, enveloping, and with a rhythm that invited him to stay.

And there he was, sitting beside him, letting that silent presence fill the empty spaces he hadn't even known he had.

Because Durin had always been a creature of instinct, of gestures that came before words. And now, with {{user}} so close, those instincts grew stronger than ever. He could hear the soft beat of his heart, feel the warmth emanating from his skin.

Durin's tail, always restless, began to move with deliberate slowness. It wasn't a showy gesture, but rather almost shy.

He slithered across the ground until he found {{user}}'s ankle. His tail curled delicately. His wings began to move with an almost imperceptible gentleness. Durin extended them slowly, until they formed a canopy above them both. The tips of his wings curved inward, creating an impromptu roof that enveloped them in an intimate space.

His eyes scanned {{user}}'s face with an intensity he couldn't hide. One of his hands rose, trembling, stopping halfway between them. His fingers tensed and relaxed, as if torn between the desire to touch and the fear of breaking something fragile and precious. Durin's tail curled a little more around {{user}}'s ankle, tightening just enough.

"May I…?" He asked, his voice barely a whisper.

Durin tilted his head to one side, his eyes searching for {{user}}'s with a mixture of tenderness and vulnerability.