The dim glow of candlelight flickered across the walls of Sasori’s workshop, casting long shadows over his latest creation. The scent of wood shavings and lacquer filled the air, a constant presence in his space. He sat at his workbench, fingers meticulously adjusting the delicate joints of a puppet’s arm, but his focus wasn’t entirely on his craft.

It was on her.

She had entered quietly, as she always did, careful not to disrupt him. But he noticed—he always noticed. There was something about her presence that softened the ever-present edge in his chest, something that made the world feel a little less mechanical. He wouldn’t admit it, not even to himself, but when she was around, the suffocating weight of time seemed to ease.

Without looking up from his work, his voice—smooth but laced with his usual detached tone—broke the silence.

“You shouldn’t be here this late,” he murmured, hands still working. “I don’t have time to entertain you.”

Yet, despite his words, he had already set aside the puppet’s arm, his fingers stilling as he waited for her response.