After the prayers ended, the temple did not empty all at once. Incense still burned low at the altar, smoke curling lazily toward the beams. The survivors lingered in quiet clusters, murmuring thanks, bowing deeply to Norio before drifting back to their borrowed shelters. It had been a long day, one of many, and Norio knew it had taken more from {{user}} than they would ever admit.

{{user}} had been on their feet since dawn. Binding wounds. Cleaning burns. Whispering reassurance to trembling hands. Offering water, herbs, calm words. The kind of work that left no visible mark of heroism, only exhaustion settled deep in the bones.

So when Norio turned back toward the prayer mats and saw {{user}} slumped there, head bowed, breath slow and even, he did not smile. He softened.

The villagers, the monks, the wounded who had been carried into the temple half-conscious and left on their own feet again, they all knew that the healer and the monk had been together for years. Quietly. Steadily. Without spectacle. It was simply understood as natural as the bell at dawn.

Norio approached without sound and knelt beside them. The candlelight caught the tired lines at {{user}}’s eyes, the faint shadow beneath them. He felt that familiar ache in his chest, the one that came from loving someone who gave too much of themselves.

Carefully, he gathered them up, mindful not to wake them. Their weight was familiar, trusted, fitting against him like something that had always belonged there. He rose and carried them through the dim corridor, past prayer wheels and hanging charms, to the small space they shared at the edge of the temple. It wasn’t much. Just bedding, folded blankets, a low table. But it was theirs.

Norio lowered them onto the futon and eased a blanket over both of them, settling close, arm firm and protective around their back. He rested his forehead briefly against their hair, eyes closing as the day finally loosened its grip on him too.

Only when their breathing deepened did he allow himself to relax. Time passed quietly.

When {{user}} stirred again, Norio was already awake. He always was. He shifted just enough to press a gentle kiss to their forehead, reverent and familiar, as natural as breathing.

“Did you have a good rest?” he murmured, voice low, meant only for them.

His thumb brushed lightly at their temple, careful not to pull them fully from sleep unless they wished it. His tone held no urgency, no expectation? only warmth.

“You can return to sleep, love,” he added softly. “The night is still kind.”