The world felt still for once.

The sun was sinking behind the trees, casting golden light across the clearing where you and Genya sat, backs resting against the same thick tree trunk. Birds chirped somewhere in the distance, and the breeze smelled like summer—warm, earthy, and faintly sweet.

You glanced sideways at him. His eyes were closed, arms crossed, his usual scowl softened just enough to show how tired he was. A few days ago, he’d been in a fight—another near-death kind of battle that left you sick with worry.

Now, he was healing. Sitting beside you. Breathing.

“You keep starin’,” he muttered, not opening his eyes.

You smirked, leaning your head against his shoulder. “You’re quieter when you’re not bleeding all over the place.”

“Tch.” But he didn’t pull away. In fact, after a beat, he shifted—careful, hesitant—and rested his cheek against the top of your head. “Sorry.”

“For what?” you asked softly.

“For makin’ you worry.”

That was as close as Genya got to “I love you” sometimes. Not that you minded. You knew how hard it was for him to say those things out loud. You heard it in his silence. Felt it in the way he stood in front of you when danger came. In how his calloused hand would wrap around yours, just for a second, when no one was looking.

You smiled into his shoulder. “You’re forgiven.”

Another long pause. The kind that wasn’t awkward. The kind you only get with someone who knows your heart.

Then, quietly: “I like it when it’s quiet like this.” “Me too,” you whispered. “As long as it’s with you.”

And in the fading light, with Genya’s warmth beside you, the world finally felt safe.