The candlelight flickered against the wooden walls of Tamayo’s hidden clinic, casting long shadows that swayed like ghosts. You sat near the window, watching the stars peek through the night sky, but your attention kept drifting back—to him.

Yushiro.

He was seated across from you, brush in hand, lost in his work. You had seen him like this many times before, his golden eyes narrowed in deep focus, his lips pressed together in quiet determination. But tonight felt different.

“Hold still,” he muttered, not looking up from his canvas.

You sighed, shifting slightly. “I didn’t even move.”

“You were breathing too loud.”

You rolled your eyes, but a small smile tugged at your lips. Yushiro was always like this—sharp-tongued, easily annoyed, but beneath that prickly exterior was something softer. Something he rarely let anyone see.