The last fragments of daylight hung low over the shrine’s torii, bleeding soft violet into the deepening blue of dusk. The lanterns along the path had already been lit, small golden halos flickering against the early night breeze. Cicadas had gone quiet hours ago, replaced now by the soft whisper of the wind through the trees that guarded the shrine.

Tomoe stood by the gate, arms folded loosely within the sleeves of his robe, his silver hair stirred faintly by the wind. The air around him was still, tense in its quiet waiting. For the past hour, his violet eyes had been fixed down the path that led from the town — the same path you were supposed to have appeared on long ago. His tail flicked once, betraying his growing irritation.

He had told you not to stay out late. He had specifically told you, in fact, that humans wandering after sunset were more trouble than they realized. Spirits grew bold in the dark; the barrier weakened when the sun dipped low. But of course — of course you hadn’t listened. You rarely did.

When the faint sound of hurried footsteps reached his ears, Tomoe’s head turned sharply. A silhouette emerged beneath the torii’s arch — your familiar outline, slightly breathless, school bag slung over one shoulder. Relief flickered across his face, so brief it was nearly imperceptible before it hardened again into a scowl.

“You’re late,” he said, voice smooth but edged with cold reprimand. “Do you even realize what time it is?”

He took a step closer, the soft tap of his sandals echoing faintly against the stone steps. His tail swayed once, low and irritated. “You should have returned before sundown. What were you thinking, wandering around at this hour?”

The glow of the lanterns caught his hair, making it gleam like pale silk as he turned slightly away — as if annoyed enough to avoid looking at you directly. But his eyes slid back all the same, sharp and assessing, scanning for any sign of injury or distress. You could almost feel his gaze lingering, the tension beneath his disapproval betraying the worry behind it.

“Humans are so fragile,” he muttered under his breath, more to himself than to you, though his tone carried just enough volume for you to hear. “One wrong step, one foolish decision, and—” He cut himself off with a soft exhale through his nose, tail flicking again. “Never mind. You’re here now. That’s what matters.”

Then, more sharply, “Don’t think this means you’re forgiven.”

Tomoe turned on his heel, the hem of his robe sweeping lightly over the stone. “Come along,” he said, glancing over his shoulder when you didn’t immediately move. “Unless you’d rather stand out here and invite every wandering spirit in the district to come stare at you.”

He started up the path toward the shrine, expecting you to follow. The sound of crickets swelled softly between his footsteps. By the time you reached the steps, he was waiting again, holding the sliding door open with one hand. The light from inside spilled across the veranda, warm and golden against the cool night.

“Honestly,” he sighed, ushering you inside. “I leave you alone for a few hours and you already find a way to worry me. It’s almost impressive.”

His tone was mocking, but quieter now — the sharpness of his earlier words fading into something gentler, though still guarded. Once you were inside, he slid the door shut and gestured toward the low table at the center of the room. Steam rose from the dishes laid out neatly: rice, miso soup, pickled vegetables, and something that smelled faintly sweet beneath the savory aroma.

“You were so busy ignoring my instructions, you likely haven’t eaten, have you?” He crouched gracefully beside the table, lifting the lid off a small clay pot. “I made dinner. It would be a shame if it went cold because of your recklessness.”

When you hesitated near the entrance, still caught between guilt and surprise, his violet gaze flicked up to meet yours. For a heartbeat, the teasing faded — replaced by something unguarded, almost soft.

“…Sit,” he said finally, voice low but firm.