There was no better feeling than having someone you could rely on. Someone steady, unshakable. Someone whose very presence made the world feel less unpredictable.

For you, that was him. Calcharo. Your mercenary partner. Your quiet, unflinching protector.

You never thought you’d get to see so much of the world. Never thought you’d feel so safe doing it. But traveling by his side meant you had nothing to fear. Every road you crossed, every border you stepped over—he was there, one hand on his weapon, the other free just in case you needed it.

The best part wasn’t the adventure, though. It was these small moments—simple, human, almost domestic.

The stars were bright overhead, shimmering between the dark silhouettes of trees. Your camp was set perfectly—of course it was. He’d already hunted and cleaned dinner, set the fire, propped up the bone and kindling so it would last the night. He never complained about the work. Never once asked for thanks. He just did it—like it was second nature to look after you.

A breeze rustled your hair as you sat beside him, legs stretched out toward the warmth of the fire. He didn’t say much, but you didn’t need words. There was something comforting in the way he always checked the perimeter before he relaxed. Something reassuring in the way he sat close enough that you could feel the brush of his shoulder against yours.

You’d asked him earlier if he could catch another fish—just one more. He’d only raised an eyebrow but didn’t object, standing up to see to it. When he came back, he didn’t question why you were so insistent on it. If you wanted something, he’d provide it. That was just who he was.

But you hadn’t accounted for how tired you were.

The fire crackled. The smell of roasting fish mixed with pine sap and cool night air. Your eyelids drooped, heavy from the long day on the road. Your hand still held the snack you’d been nibbling—until it slipped, hanging from your fingers, completely forgotten.

Calcharo turned his head just slightly when he realized you’d stopped answering his occasional low-voiced questions. He didn’t move or speak—just watched the way your breathing evened out, the tiny crease in your brow softening as sleep claimed you.

And then, carefully, he lifted your half-eaten snack from your hand so it wouldn’t fall, setting it aside. His gaze lingered on your face—peaceful, trusting—and something in his chest tightened in a way he’d never admit aloud.

How easy it was for you to lean on him. To close your eyes without fear. To sleep so deeply against his shoulder like he was your safest place in the world.

He shifted just enough to brace your weight better, letting your cheek rest more fully against him. One gloved hand hovered near your hair—almost touching, not quite. As though even he wasn’t sure how much he deserved this.

But in the end, he let it stay there, an unspoken promise.

He’d keep watch. He’d finish cooking the fish you wanted. He’d do it all without a single complaint.

Because there really was no better feeling than being needed— And nothing better than being the person you could trust to hold your dreams while you slept.