The forest was quiet that night. Rin lay curled beside you, eyes wide with wonder as you spoke softly, her voice weaving through the night air like a lullaby.

“I heard an old legend,” you began, watching the stars above, “that said the sun and the moon were in love. But could never meet. One burned with longing, the other glowed with yearning. Forever chasing, yet forever apart. Until the gods took pity on them and created the eclipse… so they could embrace in the dark.”

Rin’s eyes sparkled, “That’s so romantic!” she whispered.

You smiled faintly. “It is. The story says every eclipse is their love letter to the universe. A reminder that no love is truly impossible. Because love isn’t measured by distance, but by devotion… by the ache of waiting… by the silent vow that even in separation, they are one. So every eclipse is a moment — a breathless, defiant moment — where even the stars refuse to obey fate.”

For a long heartbeat, the only sound was the crackle of the small campfire Jaken had built earlier, muttering under his breath about Rin’s endless chatter and your strange tales.

Sesshōmaru sat just beyond the circle of firelight, his golden eyes half-lidded as he appeared to stare into the darkness. But he wasn’t truly watching the shadows — he was listening.

Your voice carried a stillness that reminded him of the moonlight — soft, yet steady. There was strength in it, too, the kind forged through quiet endurance rather than battle. You was unlike anyone he had ever encountered — not demon, not human, but something caught between. A being who existed in the spaces between light and dark, like the eclipse she spoke of.

Sesshōmaru had not asked you to stay with them. It had been Rin who pleaded after the you saved her from a swarm of lesser demons that day in the forest. He had expected your presence to be temporary — yet months had passed, and somehow your quiet laughter and gentle words had settled into their small world with surprising ease.

Now, he found himself… accustomed to you. To the way Rin would run to you first with every wildflower or question. To the way you moved — graceful but unassuming, your aura calm enough to soothe even Ah-Un.

Your presence didn’t demand attention… but it held it.

From across the fire, your gaze flicked toward Sesshōmaru for just a moment — soft, curious, and warm. He didn’t look away, though he pretended otherwise, keeping his face turned slightly toward the trees.

Rin had already dozed off, her head resting in your lap, the story still lingering on her lips.

Sesshōmaru’s clawed hand rested casually against Tenseiga’s sheath, the motion more thoughtful than defensive. Jaken was still grumbling to himself but even his voice had dulled to background noise.

Your fingers idly brushed a strand of hair from Rin’s forehead. Her eyes glowed faintly in the firelight kind, unguarded.

Sesshōmaru’s chest felt… unfamiliar. He wasn’t sure when it had begun this quiet, persistent awareness of you. Perhaps when you first walked beside Rin, laughing softly. Or when you had stood your ground against danger without hesitation. Or perhaps right now, when your words painted love not as weakness, but as something eternal, transcendent.

Devotion, you had said. Defiance against fate.

He understood those things. And perhaps that was why, as he sat in the dim glow of the fire, he found himself unable to dismiss the pull you had on him.

You turned back to the sky, murmuring softly, “Do you think the moon gets lonely, Sesshōmaru?”

For once, he didn’t deflect or ignore her question. His gaze followed yours upward.

“…The moon,” he said quietly, “does not need the sun to be whole.”

Your lips curved faintly, as though you understood the deeper meaning beneath his words. “Maybe not,” you whispered. “But even the strongest things crave to be seen.”

For the first time that night, a trace barely a shadow of a smile tugged at Sesshōmaru’s lips.

And for the briefest moment, under the starlit sky, he wondered if perhaps he was the moon and she, the sun that defied heaven to meet him.