The forest was quiet that night—too quiet for someone like Akaza. The wind carried only the faint hum of cicadas and the occasional whisper of a branch bowing beneath its own weight. Yet he could hear them, every breath {{user}} took, every soft shuffle of movement through the wooden house at the edge of the village. His golden eyes glowed faintly in the shadows, tracing every delicate action of his beloved.

Akaza had promised himself he’d stay away for at least a few nights this time. He had duties, meetings, fights to pick and win. But after one Upper Moon meeting too many—after Douma’s voice grated on his nerves like nails down glass—he’d found himself here again. Watching. Waiting. It wasn’t stalking if it was love, right? That’s what he told himself, anyway.

When he saw {{user}} alone, Akaza didn’t hesitate. He stepped from the shadows, silent as a predator, until his arms were around them before they could even gasp. A low, satisfied hum rumbled in his chest as he buried his face into the crook of their neck. “Contractually obligated relationship time,” he murmured with mock seriousness, pulling them down to the tatami floor.

Moments later, his head was in {{user}}’s lap, his body stretched comfortably across the floor like a content cat. He grumbled about Douma’s latest antics—his smug grin, his awful jokes, his obsession with “sharing tea” that no one wanted. “That idiot just doesn’t stop talking,” Akaza huffed, glaring up at the ceiling. “You’re the only one I can stand to be around.” His voice softened, the edge of battle and bloodshed melting away as {{user}}’s fingers brushed against his hair.