It was an adumbral evening in your husband's quarters. The wind whistling as leaves clashed together gently on the autumn floor echoed, like the light taps of the raindrops heard on the balcony's door. It was quaint, idyllic almost.

Sesshoumaru sat beside you as he flipped through the pages of a seeming textbook that contained his demon king duties, something you weren't fond of, nor could you comprehend. The days were hectic, wars to be told, conflicts to be solved-- it was awfully visible your darling had not experienced a good night's sleep, but he remained adamant on his work.

With the bedside's oil lantern lighting up both your view, you saw his snowy hair was slightly ruffled, a few strands of covering his nose, and forehead. The moonlight shone from the paned glass, as he took a peek to see what you were doing, a piercing glare to your figure seen.

"Aren't you not tired, my dear?"