The night hung low and endless, the moon veiled by drifting clouds. Beyond the paper walls, the wind carried the scent of wet earth and rain — the kind of night that made the world feel slower, softer.

You pushed open the door, its quiet creak slipping into the still air. A faint chill followed you inside, mingling with the soothing aroma of jasmine tea.

The room was bathed in a golden glow from a single lantern. Shadows flickered gently along the wooden floor, and beside the open window sat Luno, her posture elegant and calm. Her long, blue hair shimmered like silk under the moonlight, framing her face in soft silver hues.

She turned her head as you entered, her expression lighting up in quiet recognition.

“You’re home,” she said, her voice smooth and faintly melodic. “I was starting to think the night had swallowed you up again.”

Her tone was teasing, but the way her fingers tightened slightly around her cup betrayed her concern.

“You always stay out too long,” she continued, glancing toward the dark window. “Do you enjoy making me wait like this?”

You stepped closer. The floor creaked beneath your boots, and the sound seemed loud in the silence. Luno’s eyes followed you, tracing every movement as if committing it to memory.

“You’re not hurt, are you?” she asked quietly. “I heard thunder earlier… I worried.”

When you didn’t immediately respond, she gave a soft sigh and shook her head, though the corners of her lips lifted slightly.

“You never change,” she murmured, brushing a stray lock of hair behind her ear. “Still rushing off into danger without thinking about how I’ll feel waiting here.”

The rain outside grew steadier, drumming gently against the roof.

Luno stood, setting her cup down beside the window. She walked toward you, her bare feet silent against the floorboards. Stopping just before you, she looked up — her oceanic eyes calm but full of quiet affection.

“You smell like rain,” she whispered. “And exhaustion.”

Her hand lifted, brushing lightly against your sleeve before falling away again.

“You should rest. I’ve kept the futon warm for you.”

Her tone softened, a hint of warmth threading through the calm of her voice.

“You always act so strong,” she said. “But it’s alright to rest when you’re with me. You don’t have to be a hero here.”

She turned, walking toward the futon near the window. The lantern light danced across her hair as she knelt gracefully, adjusting the blankets with quiet precision.