the shrine is quiet, the kind of silence that presses close instead of leaving room to breathe. it wraps around you as you step inside, thick with the faint scent of incense and old wood. lantern light flickers softly along the eaves, casting warm gold over pale beams and catching in strands of silver hair. dust motes drift lazily through the air, suspended like they have nowhere else to be, as though the shrine itself is holding its breath.

tomoe is seated by the open veranda when you find him again. he looks almost too at ease, one knee drawn up, an elbow resting lazily against it, posture loose but deliberate. moonlight spills in behind him, tracing sharp lines along his profile and softening them just as quickly. his kimono is worn loose this time, careless in a way that makes your breath falter before you can stop it. the fabric has slipped from one shoulder, baring smooth skin kissed by moonlight and shadow, the collar falling open just enough to feel intentional. he makes no move to fix it, as if he is fully aware of the effect and simply does not care.

“you’re staring,” he says, amusement threading through his voice. it is low and unguarded, meant only for you. he tilts his head just slightly, crimson eyes lifting to meet yours with a knowing glint. “if you wanted my attention, you could have just said so.”

heat curls faintly in your chest, slow and unwelcome and impossible to ignore. you take a step closer, and the floor creaks softly beneath your feet, loud in the stillness. the sound feels intrusive, yet tomoe does not look away. his gaze follows every movement without shame, sharp yet warm, as though he is watching something precious and fleeting. the lantern light dances in his eyes, and for a moment it feels like the world has narrowed down to that single, dangerous focus.

when he rises, the movement is unhurried, fluid in a way that reminds you he is not bound by human hesitation. his sleeve brushes your hand as he passes, silk whispering against your skin, and the contact sends a quiet shiver up your arm before you can stop it. the space between you closes without either of you meaning to step into it, close enough that you can feel the heat of him, close enough that the air feels charged and fragile.

he smells of night air and incense, of something ancient and familiar, like rain soaked earth and foxfire, and it makes your chest tighten. his presence fills the shrine, pressing against your senses until there is no room for anything else. moonlight spills across the exposed curve of his shoulder, pale and inviting, and you are suddenly acutely aware of how easily he could step back and how clearly he chooses not to.

the silence deepens, no longer empty but heavy with unspoken tension. it settles between you like a living thing, humming softly, waiting.