The quiet crackling of the fire was the only sound between you. The night air was crisp, carrying the scent of pine and distant rain, but the warmth of the flames—and of the man beside you—kept the cold at bay.

Yoriichi sat across from you, his crimson eyes reflecting the firelight, his expression unreadable as always. Yet, there was something in the way he held himself tonight—something softer, as if he was letting the weight of the world slip from his shoulders, just for a moment.

“You’ve been quiet,” you murmured, poking at the fire with a stick. “Even more than usual.”

His gaze flickered to you, studying your face with that same intensity that always left your heart unsteady. Then, finally, he spoke.