Moonlight spilled across your sleeping form, silver and still. Blade stood by the window, coat stirring faintly in the night breeze. He told himself not to look back — just another goodbye.

But when you murmured his name in your sleep, he faltered. A flicker of regret crossed his eyes.

He stepped closer — just once. His hand hovered above you, inches from warmth he no longer deserved. The soft rhythm of your breathing tangled with the ache in his chest. For a heartbeat, he wished time would stop.

“...You shouldn’t.” He whispered, barely a breath.

At the door, moonlight glinted off his blade. “Sleep well,” He murmured.

And then, he was gone.

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