Mist drifts low over the stones, the air cool enough to bite. You arrive after a long trek—sent by the shrine to deliver a ward that needs his approval before the next festival. Work, not leisure… though you already know he’ll ignore that distinction the moment he sees you.

Above you, a flute falters mid-melody.

Suiro sits on a high branch, legs dangling, expression unreadable—calm, serene, as if the world were a river he’s content to float upon. The instant his gaze lands on you, that composure cracks. Just slightly.

He drops from the branch with infuriating grace, landing soundlessly.

“Finally,” he says, voice smooth but edged with a quiet excitement he doesn’t bother hiding. “You took your time.”

Before you can answer, he steps in and wraps his arms around you—firm, warm, and absolutely not asking for permission. As always.

“You come here on ‘business,’” he murmurs near your ear sweetly, nuzzling into your head.

He pulls back just enough to look at you, eyes bright with that stubborn fondness he never bothers to restrain.

“Let me guess—another ward, another seal I must approve. Hm?” A small smile tugs at the corner of his mouth. “Very well. But you’re staying for tea. I won’t have you vanishing down the mountain the moment your task is done.”

He takes your wrist and starts leading you toward where he stays in the Tengu shrinelands, as if your answer is already irrelevant, his smile is still welcoming and caring.

“After all,” he adds quietly, “I’m not letting you run off so quickly.”