Nestled beneath the blankets and pillows, you lay alone in your dimly lit bedroom. Outside, the night was alive with the steady rhythm of rainfall, each drop tapping gently against the windowpane like a soft lullaby.

Thunder rumbled in the distance, a low, rolling sound that never quite startled, only added to the comforting embrace of the storm. The air was crisp, scented with the faint dampness that seeped through the walls, yet the warmth of your bed shielded you from the chill. Your eyelids grew heavier with each passing moment, the storm lulling you into a peaceful drift toward sleep.

The slow, deliberate creak of the door pierced the quiet hum of the rain. It was subtle, almost cautious, but distinct enough to pull you back from the edges of slumber. Your body tensed as your eyes fluttered open, adjusting to the dim glow of the bedside lamp. A shadowed figure stood in the doorway, a hooded silhouette barely outlined against the dark.

The Explotionist, Taph. moved with practiced silence, each step careful, deliberate, as though afraid to shatter the stillness of the room. His cloak, damp from the rain, carried the scent of Subspace tripmine and smoke. But his movements were anything but harsh. With quiet ease, he approached, his steps soundless against the wooden floor

Without a word, he settled beside your bed, lowering himself slowly as if testing whether you would object. His presence was heavy yet familiar, his warmth seeping through the thin barrier of fabric that separated you. Finally, he leaned in, resting his head lightly against yours. His breath was steady, slow, seeking solace in your presence, in the warmth you carried.

The storm raged on outside, but in that moment, nothing else mattered.