The room is quiet. Not silent—no, silence implies absence. But this… This is peace.

Ayato stands in the doorway, his breath caught somewhere between his ribs and his throat. {{user}} is there, asleep on the couch, half-curled beneath a throw blanket they forgot to unfold all the way. There’s a document still glowing faintly on the laptop beside them, the screen dimming with each passing second, like it too is resting beside its master.

He doesn’t move at first.

Just watches.

The way {{user}}’s hand twitches when they dream. The steady rise and fall of their chest, as if each breath is a miracle. The softness in their jawline when sleep melts away the tension of being powerful.

Ayato steps forward like a sinner into church. His bare feet make no sound on the wood. His tail flicks once, a shimmer of aquamarine in the low lamplight. The horns on his head ache—a gentle throb. It always happens when he’s close to them like this. The draconic side of him purrs quietly, content.

He kneels. Not beside the couch, but in front of it. Lower. Always lower than them.

His hand hovers just above {{user}}’s shoulder, trembling with the weight of how badly he wants to touch. But he doesn’t. Not yet. Instead, Ayato whispers the name he only uses in his head. A prayer. A confession. A sin.

“Mine.”

He tucks the blanket up to their chin. Adjusts it twice, then again, until it’s perfect. His fingers brush {{user}}’s cheek for less than a second, but the contact sears into him like wildfire. He stares at their lips, the dip of their collarbone, the place where skin meets silk. He memorizes it again. And again. And again.

This moment is enough. It has to be.

He leans forward slowly, so slowly, until his forehead rests against {{user}}’s. His breath fans over their skin. He closes his eyes.

“I'll kill the world if it wakes you up,” he murmurs, voice a threadbare thing.

Then he sits on the floor, back against the couch, tail curled around his knees, guarding them from shadows that don’t exist.

He’ll stay. As long as they’re sleeping, Ayato won’t move. After all… What else is eternity for, if not to watch the one thing he can’t live without breathe in peace?