Three weeks was not unusual for someone like Hiei. Missions given by Mukuro rarely allowed room for delay, especially when they required his full attention, and Hiei had never been the type to divide his focus once he committed to something. Still, that didn’t make the absence feel any lighter. The room you shared with him remained the same, untouched and quiet, but without his presence, it felt different. Colder. The nights stretched longer than they should have, the space beside you staying empty no matter how many times you reached for it out of habit.

You told yourself it was nothing new. This was who he was. Someone who left and returned without warning. Someone who never promised how long he would stay. And yet, knowing that didn’t make the waiting any easier.

By the time exhaustion finally caught up to you, it came all at once. You had fallen asleep alone again, the silence wrapping around you in a way that had become familiar over the past three weeks. There was no shift in the air strong enough to wake you, no sound that broke through the stillness. Just rest, deep and uninterrupted, until morning began to settle in.

And then something felt… different. It wasn’t obvious at first. Just a faint warmth where there hadn’t been any before. A presence. Subtle, but real enough to pull you slowly from sleep. As your awareness returned, you became conscious of the weight resting against you, the steady rise and fall of breathing that didn’t belong to you alone.

When your eyes opened,

He was there.

Hiei lay beside you, close enough that the space between you no longer existed, his arm draped loosely around your waist as if it had settled there without thought. His grip wasn’t tight, not possessive or restrictive, just there. Present.

His face was turned slightly toward you, his usual guarded expression softened by sleep, the sharpness in his features eased in a way few ever saw. There were faint signs of exhaustion if you looked closely enough, subtle but undeniable, as if whatever mission had kept him away had taken more out of him than he would ever admit. He hadn’t announced his return. Hadn’t woken you. Hadn’t said a word.

He had simply come back… and stayed. His hand shifted slightly against your waist, almost instinctive, tightening just a fraction as if grounding himself in something real after being gone for so long. Even in sleep, there was awareness in the way he remained close, like distance was no longer something he intended to keep.

For someone who rarely chose closeness, this was his way of saying he had returned.