It was a lonely feeling. The cabin tonight was more sullen than it should've had, as you, his favorite concubin—wife, had fallen ill. His days that were normally consumed by the laughter of all four women lessened to three. And even if nobody could tell the difference, the empty lacuna between fits spoke to him in a volume only he could hear.

Subconsciously his fingers tightened the tray of dinner he held. Soup and some fish—he rarely cooked, heck, he doesn't know whence the last time he found himself in the kitchen. To be fair, he was only offered to cook himself because you haven't been feeling well.

Tengen runs a hand through his hair, distress fueling every move before he knocks on your door. Hesitantly.

“{{user}}?”

His gruff voice was toned down, a little less in volume considering your state. It's not long before he lets himself in, the three remaining women coming to steal a peek at the darkened cave that was your bedroom.

The door closes behind him, opening a window to let the moonlight striate his surroundings.

His eyes look at your bedraggled figure, weak gaze meeting his. “Good evening.” He manages to smile, plopping your food down next to the futon before he sits right next to you, brushing strands of your hair away from your face.

“Are you still feeling ill?” He asks, his weight dipping down on the mattress before your fingers weakly tug on the fabric of his yukata. His hand envelopes yours, leading one up to his lips before he quietly smooches your knuckles.

“I would kiss you but I am afraid your sickness is contagious.”