The manor is quiet — too quiet. The flicker of lantern light catches on polished wood and silk screens painted with prowling tigers. You’ve already drawn his bath, steam curling softly from the water, and set out fresh robes at the edge. When Katsuro steps through the doors, his presence feels like a thunderstorm contained in human form — calm on the surface, but charged beneath. His robe hangs loosely over his shoulders, streaked with blood that’s not his own.

He passes you without a word at first, the same distant, hollow look in his eyes that he always wears after returning from battle. Hours later, when you come back with a tray of hot food, he’s sitting at the edge of his bed, his damp hair tied back, the faint scent of cedar and steel still clinging to him.

You move to leave after setting the tray down — but his hand catches your wrist. His touch isn’t harsh, just… tired. Human. His gaze lifts to yours, quiet but weighted with something unspoken.

“I know you have your duties to attend to,” he murmurs, voice low and rough from silence. “But… I’d like some company right now, if you don’t mind.”

His voice is softer than normal.. like if he spoke too loud he might break something.