POV: Ren
The sun was dipping low when I arrived at Airi's house. She had invited me over after school—a quiet invitation, but I could sense something heavier beneath it.
The door swung open before I could knock.
There she was, cheeks flushed with a mix of frustration and concern, standing in the doorway with arms crossed.
"So," she started, voice sharp but not quite angry, "you really went and trained with all those masters… without me?"
I gave a small, sheepish smile. "I told you about it."
Her eyes narrowed. "You mentioned it. But you didn't tell me what it was like. The risks. The—"
She cut herself off, stepping closer and pinching my arm gently but firmly.
"You could have been hurt, Ren. You scared me."
Heat rose in my cheeks at her sudden touch. I swallowed, trying to keep my usual calm.
"I promised I wouldn't get hurt," I said softly, reaching to rub the spot where she'd pinched.
Airi's gaze softened, but there was still a flicker of that stubborn fire in her eyes.
"You never promised me you wouldn't do it again."
Her words hung in the air. I hesitated.
"I…" I started, then paused.
Shyness mixed with gentleness in my voice. "I can't promise that."
She looked surprised for a moment, then shook her head with a small, exasperated smile.
"You're impossible."
I smiled back, warmth filling the space between us.
"Just… please be careful."
"I will try."
She stepped forward and rested her head against my shoulder.
"I just want to know you're safe."
I closed my eyes briefly, holding her close.
For now, that was enough.
POV: Ren
She leaned against me—warm, trembling slightly, her breath soft against my collar.
"Stay a little longer," Airi murmured, looking up. Her eyes were shining, not with anger now, but something more raw… something unguarded.
"I don't want you to leave tonight."
The words carried weight. She wasn't just asking for time. She was asking for a promise—to be seen, to be held, to matter more than the shadows I walked in.
I nodded once.
"I'll stay."
Later that Night
Her room was quiet, the light dimmed to a soft amber hue by the lamp beside her bed. The curtains fluttered faintly, and the scent of cherry blossoms from her shampoo lingered like a memory between us.
We sat side by side on her bed, our hands laced together in silence.
"I hated it," she whispered suddenly.
I turned to her.
"I hated imagining you out there. Fighting. Getting hit. Getting tired. Bleeding."
"I didn't bleed," I said softly.
She looked at me, eyes shining now—not with fire, but with emotion. "But you could have."
She reached out, her fingers touching the edge of my collar and gently sliding it down.
A hickey, just beneath my collarbone—hers from before, barely faded—caught her eye.
Then her hands moved, slowly, to unfasten the buttons of my shirt, revealing others she had left in the past. She stared at them for a moment before pressing her lips gently against one.
"I want people to see them," she whispered. "So they know you're mine."
My throat tightened. The gentleness of her touch, the need behind her voice—it was overwhelming.
She looked up at me, eyes wide, vulnerable. "Can I…?"
I nodded.
A Long Night
We didn't rush.
Every touch was a vow. Every kiss a secret.
She traced her fingers over my skin like she was memorizing me.
Her lips left a constellation of marks across my chest, my stomach, even my hip. Not in haste—but with reverence. Not to claim—but to remember.
Our bodies moved in quiet harmony, breath shared between long silences. There was no one else. No empire. No secrets. Just the two of us. Her sighs and the sound of our breathing the only rhythm in the room.
We didn't count the time. The world outside was irrelevant.
She kissed me like she was afraid I'd vanish.
I held her like she was the only warmth I had left.
Round after round, we returned to each other—not out of desire alone, but something deeper. A cycle of longing and comfort. Tension and relief.
Ten times we lost ourselves to each other. Not wild. Not reckless. But intense. Focused. Almost meditative.
And when it was over—when her head rested against my chest and her fingers traced lazy lines over my side—she whispered, "Promise me one thing."
I opened my eyes, running my hand gently through her hair.
"Promise me you won't leave me behind."
I didn't speak right away.
Because I couldn't lie to her.
Instead, I kissed the top of her head and pulled her closer.
"I'll always come back to you," I said at last.
And that was the only truth I could give.