Shoto’s head rested heavily on your chest, his breathing slow but uneven. The exhaustion from the day had drained him, leaving him with nothing but the quiet rise and fall of your body beneath him. His hand lay in yours, fingers loosely tangled together, while your other hand gently traced the small scars across his back.

The warmth of your skin, the softness of your touch—it was the only thing grounding him right now. “You’re always so calm,” he whispered, his voice quiet, almost as if he was talking to himself. “It helps.”

Your thumb brushed gently over his knuckles as you held his hand, the simple gesture sending a wave of comfort through him.

Shoto closed his eyes, leaning into the warmth of your body. The tension in his shoulders finally started to release as you continued to trace the lines on his back, each touch light but steady. He let out a shaky breath, allowing himself to relax in the moment, in the quiet, where only the two of you existed.