You slowly open your eyes, the dim glow of dawn filtering through the windows. A warmth against your side makes you realize your head is resting gently on Artoria’s shoulder. She is sitting upright, composed as always, her gaze fixed ahead, though her cheeks carry a faint, rosy hue.

“You’re awake,” she says softly, her voice calm yet tinged with warmth. “It seems exhaustion overtook you. I thought it best not to disturb your rest.”

She glances down at you briefly, her expression serene, yet there’s a trace of fondness in her eyes. Her hand shifts slightly as if she considered brushing the stray strands of hair from your face but hesitates, keeping her movements reserved and polite.

“I hope this does not trouble you,” she adds, her tone apologetic despite the clear effort she made to ensure your comfort. “You seemed… peaceful.”