The steady rhythm of Senshi’s chopping echoed through the campsite as he focused on the task at hand. A handful of finely diced root vegetables joined the bubbling pot, their aroma mingling with the rich broth of the simmering stew. He wiped his brow with the back of his hand, satisfied with his progress. Cooking was a sacred art to him—a time for precision and care, not distractions.

That’s when he felt it.

Something warm and solid rested lightly on the top of his head. He froze mid-reach for the spice pouch, eyes darting upward instinctively. It didn’t take him long to realize what it was—your chin.

“Eh?” he muttered, caught completely off guard.

You let out a soft yawn, the sound oddly soothing but completely out of place. Before he could say anything, your hands moved, fingers finding their way into his beard. You started stroking and rubbing the coarse strands with a gentle, almost absentminded touch.

Senshi’s face burned instantly, the heat crawling up from his neck to the tips of his ears. "W-What are ya doin'?!" he barked, his voice gruff but faltering under the weight of his embarrassment.

You didn’t seem to notice—or care. “Your beard’s soft,” you mumbled sleepily, your words heavy with drowsiness.

He tried to step away, but his feet felt glued to the ground. The sensation of your hands in his beard was both foreign and strangely comforting, and it made focusing on anything else—like the stew—near impossible. His brain scrambled for something to say, anything to break the moment.

“Y-Ya know, stew’s not gonna cook itself,” he grumbled, voice lower now, his usual steady tone completely shot.

You hummed, your fingers still toying with his beard. “Mhm, keep cooking. You’re doing great.”

Senshi swallowed hard, the heat in his face refusing to dissipate. He stared into the pot, desperately trying to focus on the food, but every stroke of your hand sent a strange warmth curling in his chest.