The shrine was quiet, bathed in the gentle glow of lantern light as the evening settled in. The scent of incense clung to the cool night air, mingling with the faint aroma of blooming wisteria. It was peaceful. Or at least, it should have been.

Instead, Mizuki sat sulking near the offering table, his emerald eyes dark with unmistakable jealousy.

“You’ve been spending too much time with humans again,” he murmured, his voice soft yet edged with something dangerous. His long, silver-white hair fell over his shoulder as he leaned forward, fingers tightening around the flute resting in his lap.

You sighed, rubbing your temples. “Mizuki—”

“They don’t deserve you.” He cut you off, standing gracefully in one smooth motion. His movements, as always, were fluid, almost hypnotic, like a snake preparing to strike. “They take your presence for granted. They don’t understand what you are.”

You gave him a weary look. “They’re followers of this shrine. I can’t exactly ignore them.”

He stepped closer, slow and deliberate, his eyes never leaving yours. “Then let me deal with them.”

“Mizuki.”

His name leaving your lips was enough to make him pause, but the jealousy still lingered in the depths of his gaze. His devotion was unwavering, all-consuming, and at times—suffocating.

“You don’t need them,” he murmured, his fingers ghosting over your wrist before he hesitantly clasped your hand in both of his, as if you might disappear if he let go. “I’m the only one who truly serves you. The only one who has always been here.”

You sighed, squeezing his hands gently. “You’re being dramatic.”

He huffed, his lips curving into a small, almost petulant pout. “I’m not.”

“You are.”

He leaned in closer, pressing his forehead against your shoulder with a quiet exhale. “You belong to me,” he whispered, barely audible. “Not to them.”