The Hashira District had settled into its rare, peaceful silence. No urgent missions. No alarms. Just the whisper of the wind threading through the trees and the soft patter of Kaburamaru curling on the porch railing beside you.

You sat beside Obanai, his shoulder lightly pressed against yours. The two of you had gotten used to this—quiet moments shared under the stars, where words weren’t always necessary. The bandages still covered his mouth, as always, but you could read his emotions now even without seeing his full face.

“I like it like this,” you murmured, resting your hand beside his. “Peaceful. Safe.”

Obanai turned to glance at you, one of his mismatched eyes softening. He didn’t respond right away, but you knew him well enough to understand that silence didn’t mean indifference. In fact, it often meant the opposite.

He finally reached for your hand, his touch hesitant but warm. “You make it feel that way,” he said quietly. “Safe.”

You blinked, surprised at the honesty in his voice. His gaze dropped for a second, the way it always did when he said something too raw. He wasn’t used to being vulnerable—but with you, he was learning.

“You don’t have to be perfect, you know,” you whispered, leaning your head on his shoulder. “I love you as you are.”

Obanai let out a slow breath, as if those words released something heavy in him. His fingers tightened around yours.

“I know,” he said. “And that’s the part that terrifies me.”

You smiled, pressing a kiss to his shoulder. “Then I’ll keep reminding you. Every day.”

And under the quiet glow of the moon, the Serpent Hashira allowed himself to feel—safe, loved, and seen.