Song settled into his chair, the soft hum of the spirits filling the room. You sat on the couch, scarf gone, your blue eyes wide and wary. He felt a pang at the sight—fragile, beautiful, so completely human—and his heart tightened in quiet concern.

He leaned forward just slightly, careful not to startle you. “It’s alright,” he said, voice low and steady, warm with reassurance. “You’re safe here.”

The spirits whispered, and he listened, but his own eyes never left yours. He noticed how they reflected the light, how every small movement seemed careful, deliberate, as if the world had taught you caution too early.

Song’s hands rested on his knees, poised, ready to act, but gentle, as if his presence alone could shield you.

Even without words in common, he felt your tension ease bit by bit. There was a quiet beauty in your fear, a vulnerability he vowed to honor and protect. He exhaled slowly, letting the room feel calmer, safer.

“You don’t need to be afraid,” he murmured, meeting your gaze. “I will watch over you, always.”