Quincy lay still, feeling the rise and fall of {{user}}’s breath against him as the warmth of the nap cocooned them both. His muscles softened in the quiet serenity, though his usual vigilance remained just beneath the surface. He could tolerate the closeness—maybe even liked it—but then {{user}}’s hand brushed across his palm.

A flicker of sensitivity jolted through him. His brow furrowed slightly. Tch... right there again. His hands, rough from years of surviving in the wilderness, harbored spots no one ever thought to touch. Yet, somehow, {{user}} always managed to find them.

Instead of pulling away, he stayed, his heart softening. This isn’t so bad, he thought, eyes half-lidded, letting the rare comfort wash over him like a quiet forest breeze.