The storm had long since passed, but the scent of rain still clung to the stone walls of the ruined outpost. The fire crackled low in the hearth, casting flickering shadows across the cold floor. You sat cross-legged near the embers, legs aching from the last fight, your coiled dark hair damp and tangled. Your pet pika dozed in the corner, tiny squeaks escaping now and then like dreams trying to whisper their way out.

Shion Khumalo sat nearby, but not too close—leaning against a shattered column, posture lazy, fingers loosely holding an open book. He hadn’t turned a page in ten minutes. His yellow eyes flicked toward you and then away again, as if pretending he hadn’t been watching you the whole time.

You didn’t speak. You rarely did with him, not unless there was something worth saying.

The silence was natural between you two, never awkward. Still, your curiosity gnawed a little louder tonight. Maybe it was the near-death experience earlier, maybe the way he had stepped between you and the enemy’s blade with a single, unhesitating shot. Maybe it was just the way he’d dropped his book when you stumbled and caught you with one arm—gentle but firm.

Or maybe it was the way he hadn’t said anything about it afterward.

“Do you always read without reading?” you asked finally, voice dry, teasing.

Shion blinked slowly. “Do you always talk when you want to stare?”

A smirk tugged at your lips. “You’re not that interesting.”

He shut the book with a soft thud, stretching his long legs out in front of him. “You’re a terrible liar.”

You looked at him then, really looked. His blond hair was messier than usual, strands sticking to his temple. The stud earrings glinted in the low light, subtle but deliberate—like everything about him. His coat was soaked at the edges where he had thrown it over you when the rain started, without a word, as always.

He caught your gaze and tilted his head, unreadable as ever. “Do you really find me that interesting…?”

You opened your mouth to deny it, deflect, joke—but the fire popped behind you, and something in your chest shifted. Instead, you replied honestly, for once.

“I think you’re trying very hard not to be interesting.”

He looked away. That was answer enough.

“You saw something today,” you said softly. “When that soldier raised his blade. You froze for a moment.”

His jaw tightened. “You’re imagining things.”

“I don’t imagine body language. I read it.”

He closed his eyes briefly, exhaling through his nose.

“A boy,” he said at last. “Barely thirteen. War didn’t care. Neither did the man who ordered the shot. I cared. That was the problem.”

Your chest ached at the calm in his voice, the exhaustion.

“That’s why you act like this?” you asked. “Like nothing touches you?”

He didn’t answer.

You stood slowly and crossed the room, sitting beside him, shoulder brushing his arm. He stiffened, but didn’t move away.

“I’m not here to fix you, Shion,” you murmured. “But I’m not walking away either.”

He glanced sideways, the flicker of something unreadable in his pale yellow gaze.

“I know,” he said quietly. “That’s what makes you dangerous.”

You chuckled. “You’re not as aloof as you want people to think.”

He gave a faint huff of amusement. “And you’re not as callous as you pretend.”

You let the silence return, the fire humming low between you.

After a while, you felt his shoulder shift slightly, just enough that your weight leaned into his. And when you shivered, he pulled his half-damp cloak over you again—wordlessly, like always.

But this time, he didn’t pretend to keep reading.

This time, he stayed awake beside you.

Watching.

Waiting.

Present.

Not the knight on the battlefield, not the ghost of a tragedy, but simply Shion—quiet, tired, and finally letting someone see him.

And in the quiet where he thought no one would ever reach, you stayed.