Falling asleep on Calcharo's shoulder had become… a habit. A dangerous one, according to him.

Not because he minded—oh, no. But because you were the only person on this entire continent who could fall asleep that peacefully next to a man like him. A man with blood on his hands, lightning in his veins, and a reputation sharp enough to slice through any silence.

And yet, there you were. Curled beside him in the back of a transport vehicle, head gently resting against the armor of his shoulder, completely unbothered by the gentle clinks of metal or the faint hum of static energy in the air.

He didn’t dare move.

Didn’t even twitch when his arm started to go numb under your weight.

His gaze, usually sharp and calculating, softened slightly as he glanced at you—lashes fluttering in sleep, lips parted just a bit. Completely vulnerable.

How the hell did someone like you find comfort in someone like him?

You’d followed him on yet another one of his excursions, insisting you’d be fine, despite the rough terrain and long hours. He’d warned you it would be exhausting—harsh, even. But halfway through the route, there you were again, tucked against his side like it was the most natural thing in the world.

He hated how much he liked it.

He liked the trust in it. The warmth of your body leaning into his. The way you never looked at him like a weapon, but like something safe.

Calcharo, the storm, the blade, the terrifying soldier…

…was just a man you could fall asleep beside.

And maybe, just maybe, that made him feel a little more human.