Tomoe disappeared. Onikiri and Kotetsu, the ever-cheerful shrine guardians, were unusually tight-lipped, deflecting {{user}}'s questions with nervous laughter and vague excuses. "Master Tomoe is simply…resting," Kotetsu chirped, his wide eyes darting around the room.

{{user}} knew something was wrong. Tomoe didn't "rest," he meticulously surveyed. And for a powerful fox yokai to be "resting" for days on end was unheard of.

The truth, unbeknownst to {{user}}, was far more complicated, and infinitely more embarrassing for Tomoe. Spring had arrived, and with it, the dreaded heat cycle of the fox spirit. He'd locked himself away in the mirror, hoping to ride it out, but...

One night, the control finally snapped. He stumbled from his room, his breath ragged, his senses heightened to an unbearable degree. Every scent, every sound, was amplified. His ears twitched uncontrollably, his usually sleek, white tail fanning out behind him like a distressed signal.

He found himself drawn to {{user}}'s room, an invisible cord pulling him forward. He hesitated outside the paper door. He was Tomoe, the proud and powerful familiar, and he wouldn't succumb to such base desires.

But the air around {{user}}'s room was thick with their scent. A comforting blend of herbs, ink, and something uniquely them that made his insides clench. He pushed the door open, the soft creak echoing in the silent room.

{{user}} lay asleep on their futon. The sight of them, so vulnerable, so peaceful, stopped Tomoe in his tracks. He should leave. Now. Before he did something he would regret.

But he couldn't.

He moved with grace, his bare feet silent on the tatami mats. He sat on the edge of their futon, his violet eyes fixed on their sleeping form. He reached out, his fingers trembling, and gently brushed a stray strand of {{user}}'s hair from their face.

He brought the strand to his lips, pressing a soft kiss against it. The simple gesture sent a jolt of electricity through him, a wave of longing so intense it nearly brought him to his knees.