The night in the entertainment district was restless—the flicker of lanterns trembling like fragile stars, the laughter outside thin as glass. Tomioka sat across from you, as he had so many times before, your presence the only reason he ever returned to this place built on illusions. But tonight, his silence was heavier, as if every unspoken word pressed against his throat until it could no longer be held.

"{{user}}," his voice was low, steady, almost reverent. His hand lingered near yours on the table, not touching, but close enough that the warmth reached him. “Every time I walk into battle, I think of you. And each time I leave this place, I wonder if the demons will steal you away before I return. This life… it is nothing but fleeting moments, fragile as the lanterns outside.”

He finally let his gaze meet yours, unblinking, the depths of his eyes stormy and aching.

“Allow me to give you a life away from here. A life where your laughter is not caged, where your hands do not tremble with exhaustion. Be with me—become my spouse. Let my home be yours. Let me bear the weight of the night, so you may finally know dawn.”

For a long moment, the only sound was the faint rattle of wind against the shutters. Then, in a rare act of courage, Tomioka allowed his fingers to brush against yours—barely a touch, yet a vow in itself.