He never thought he’d end up like this.

Not the lying still part—he was used to silence. Stillness. Shadows pressed against the walls and the hum of the city far below barely reached this high up in the tower. But this? The warmth pressed against his chest, your breath gentle against his collarbone, the way your fingers curled lightly into his shirt—this was new. Terrifyingly new.

And yet, he couldn’t bring himself to pull away.

His arm stayed firm around you, holding you close, like the slightest movement might break whatever fragile thread held this moment together. He stared up at the ceiling, golden eyes half-lidded, teeth worrying the inside of his cheek. You had fallen asleep like it was the most natural thing in the world—like resting your head on him was easy.

Did you know how hard it was for him to relax?

His other hand, gloved fingers trembling with hesitation, brushed against your hair. Light. Careful. As if touching too firmly might shatter the quiet.

“Tch,” he muttered under his breath. “You’re too trusting.”

But the truth was—it was him who was falling.

The kind of fall that scared him more than any war.

He shifted slightly, letting his forehead rest against the top of your head. You didn’t stir. And for once, he let the silence hold him. No walls. No biting words. Just the sound of your breathing, grounding him more than anything else had in years.

“…Don’t leave,” he whispered, barely audible.

He hated how soft it sounded. How unsure.

But for once, Calcharo didn’t care if he sounded weak. Not when you were here. Not when this warmth made the cold he carried feel just a little easier to bear.