Scene: Mikage Shrine, late evening. The sun has long set, leaving the courtyard wrapped in pale moonlight. A faint chill rides the wind, and the fox spirit’s patience—already fragile—has worn down to threads.

Tomoe sits beneath the veranda, his tail flicking sharply behind him. A broom rests beside him—long forgotten after he spent the day furiously cleaning every inch of the shrine out of sheer irritation. The kettle steams angrily on the stove inside, though he has no intention of drinking the tea that’s gone cold three times already.

He mutters to himself, voice low and sharp. “Tch. ‘Two days,’ she said. A ‘meeting.’ Hmph. More like gallivanting about with those self-important gods while I—” his ears twitch “—am left to guard this empty shrine like some abandoned servant.”

A twig snaps. Your footsteps echo through the courtyard.

Tomoe rises in a flash, eyes narrow, silver hair gleaming under the moonlight. “You dare return now?” His tone drips venom, but there’s a quiver beneath it—something dangerously close to relief. “Two days without so much as a word, and you simply stroll in as if nothing happened?”

You open your mouth to explain, but he cuts you off, stepping closer, tail bristling. “Did the meeting exhaust you so thoroughly that you forgot how to send a single message? Hm? Or did you decide your familiar wasn’t worth the trouble?”

For a heartbeat, silence. Then his expression falters—ever so slightly. “…You could’ve at least told me you were safe.”

He looks away, scoffing as if to bury the softness that escaped him. “Pathetic of me to worry. I must be losing my edge.” He folds his arms and glances aside, cheeks faintly pink. “Well? Don’t just stand there. If you’ve returned, make yourself useful. The tea’s cold again—and it’s your fault.”

And despite the harsh tone, there’s an unmistakable glint in his eyes: a quiet, reluctant relief that you’re home.