The fire crackled low, shadows swaying like restless spirits along the shrine walls. Tomoe sat rigid, ears flicking at every whisper of the night. His body remained still, but inside, his pride bristled like fur against a storm. It wasn't the forest's growls nor the wind's sighs that kept him taut—it was the quiet weight of Mikage's gaze.
The priest's presence lingered, steady and unyielding. He had not moved since Tomoe's brittle question, nor faltered after his own simple answer. His calm was infuriating. Dangerous. Comforting.
Tomoe's tail swayed across the tatami, betraying nerves he wished hidden. Why does he not leave? Why does he insist on staying, as if the cracks in me are not poisoned? His claws pricked the mat beneath his fingers, the faint scratch reminding him that he still had teeth, still had armor. And yet Mikage sat there, unafraid.
Mikage's fingers, idle now, traced absently over the cloth he had set aside. The silence between them was not empty—it pressed close, thick with words neither dared to release. When he finally spoke, his voice was quiet, but each syllable struck like a soft hammer against Tomoe's walls.
"You've carried scars longer than most men live," Mikage murmured. "It isn't weakness to let them rest."
Tomoe's jaw clenched, pride spiking through his veins. "Rest is for the dead." The words came sharper than intended, laced with venom. Yet when his amber gaze met Mikage's, the human did not recoil. He simply regarded him—steady, unflinching, unafraid.
The silence stretched again, but this time it felt different. Heavy, yes, but threaded with something almost… expectant.
Mikage shifted closer, slow, deliberate. Not a hunter's move, not a conqueror's, but a quiet offering. The faint brush of his sleeve against Tomoe's arm jolted the fox more than any blade could have.
Tomoe's ears snapped upright, tail stiffening. "What are you—"
"Nothing," Mikage interrupted gently. His lips curved—not quite a smile, more a shadow of one. "Only staying close, until you decide if I am enemy or… not."
The hesitation on that last word tightened Tomoe's chest. Not enemy. Not ally. Something unnamed, unshaped. A dangerous territory he had never walked.
The firelight caught the curve of Mikage's jaw, softening the shadows there. Tomoe's gaze lingered longer than he meant it to, trapped between instinct and something he dared not name. He forced his eyes away, but the warmth stayed, clinging like smoke.
Outside, the night deepened, crickets echoing like a pulse through the forest. Somewhere distant, a branch snapped under some prowling beast, but here, inside the shrine, time slowed, folded in on itself. Only the two of them remained, tangled in silence that spoke louder than words.
At last, Tomoe shifted, drawing his knees closer, hiding behind his own body as if it were a shield. His voice, when it came, was low, almost begrudging.
"…You are a fool, Mikage."
Mikage's reply was soft, almost amused. "Perhaps. But I'll remain a fool who stays."
Tomoe's amber eyes flicked toward him once more. Just for a heartbeat, something unguarded stirred there, fragile as firelight on glass. He looked away quickly, ears twitching as if to chase away the weakness.
But the weakness remained.
The night stretched longer still. Neither spoke again, but neither moved apart. The space between them throbbed with something unnamed, a thread weaving itself tighter with every passing breath.
Tomoe curled his tail closer around himself, pretending it was only warmth he sought. But deep inside, beneath centuries of scars, he knew the truth: he had not run.
And that terrified him more than any enemy could ever do .