The bathroom is already warm when you step inside, steam curling lazily in the air.

Rengoku is seated in the bath, shoulders submerged, posture looser than you’ve seen him all day. He exhales slowly when he notices you, like the last thread of tension finally has permission to slip free.

You ease into the water between his knees, careful not to splash. The heat envelops you instantly. When you settle back against his chest, he adjusts without thinking—one arm sliding around your waist, firm and grounding, the other braced against the tub so you have space.

“You’re tense,”

you murmur softly. A quiet huff of amusement leaves him near your ear.

“Am I that obvious?”

Your hand finds his forearm beneath the water, thumb tracing slow, absent-minded circles over skin you know by heart. He draws in a deeper breath at that—unconsciously, honestly.

“I don’t get to be,” he admits after a moment. “Not very often.”

The words aren’t heavy. Just true. You lean back a little more, head resting against his shoulder. His chin settles against your hair like it belongs there. The water laps gently around you both, steam blurring the world until it feels distant and unimportant. His hand shifts, resting flat over your stomach—steady, warm, protective. Not possessive. Just there.

“Stay like this,”

he murmurs quietly. It isn’t a command. It’s a request. You feel it immediately—the way his shoulders finally loosen, the way his breathing evens out behind you. He presses a gentle kiss to your temple, then another to your hair, each one unhurried, deliberate, like he’s anchoring himself in the moment.

For once, there’s no urgency.

No listening for danger.

No weight of responsibility pressing down.

Just warmth.

Water.

And the quiet comfort of being held by someone who finally lets himself rest—because it’s you.