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The mission notice came through just after noon.
Yuuka read it once, then again more slowly. Fukuoka. Active group of curse users. Civilian-heavy district. Estimated three to five targets, possibly more. Urgent.
She exhaled through her nose. "A group of them. That's gonna be messy."
Tsurugi was already reaching for his phone. "Messy, or they are actually slipping away in the crowd as we speak. We will move fast."
"You don't know that."
"I know what happens when you give groups like this time to scatter."
She looked at him. "And I know what happens when you rush into populated areas without preparing first."
He paused, fingers hovering over the screen. "We will already arrive there at night. We don't have the luxury of waiting any longer."
"That's not what I said."
His jaw tightened. "It's what you always mean. You're never ready for the job. You always want to wait and sketch out every scenario."
That earned him her full attention.
"We can leave right now. We can even face them right away. I'm just saying we should map out the area. Come on, Tsurugi, when was the last time you visited Fukuoka? If they're using civilians as cover, if they're slipping into cracks only they know about, us putting pressure will only make it worse."
"And if they're already thinking of relocating, your overpreparation hands them a clean escape plan."
"You're assuming the worst-case scenario. They don't even know we are coming after them."
"I'm assuming reality."
There was a beat of silence. The air between them sharpened.
Tsurugi turned slightly away, already scrolling through transport options. "Fine. We'll argue your tactics on the way. We're getting the first train tonight. Shinkansen."
Yuuka watched him book without looking at her.
"You're doing it again," she said.
"Doing what."
"Deciding for both of us."
He glanced up, irritation flickering. "I'm just handling the logistics. Is that a crime?"
"It is when you treat my input like background noise."
He scoffed quietly. "I just got the tickets for the next possible train. You're reading too much into it."
She stepped closer. "Then stop acting like I'm a liability."
That landed harder than she expected. He straightened.
"I didn't say that."
"You don't have to. You hear Fukuoka and immediately switch into supreme leader mode."
"Because it will be dangerous. We'll be on the other side of the country. Alone."
"I am dangerous," she said flatly. "That's why we got the job."
He looked at her then, really looked, and something protective hardened in his eyes.
"It's not that."
"Then what."
"You know what."
"No," she said. "I don't. Explain it to me."
He hesitated, just long enough for the mistake to form.
"You remember Sendai," he said. "When you came in late because you thought ten steps ahead and prepared an ambush across the damned lake. You pushed yourself to make it back in time, used up your cursed energy to fly over the lake, and went down mid-operation. We had to pull you out of it. I had to carry your ice-cold body to the hospital myself."
The words hit like the water in that moment.
Yuuka went still.
"That was years ago," she said quietly.
"And you think that just stops mattering?"
"It's not relevant anymore," she snapped. "I recovered. I trained. I adapted."
"You collapsed because you didn't follow my plan."
"I was fourteen!"
"And you think that makes it ancient history? You're still acting like the same kid."
Her hands curled into fists. "You think I'm still that little girl?"
"I think," he said carefully, "that you don't always know when to stop."
Her laugh was short and sharp. "That's rich, coming from you."
"I'm serious."
"So am I, and you don't get to keep dragging that out like a leash around my neck."
He opened his mouth, then closed it. His phone buzzed softly as the booking page refreshed.
"Hotels are selling out fast for tonight. One room should be fine," he said, too quickly. "It's cheaper. Easier to coordinate if we need multiple days."
"No."
The refusal was instant. Absolute.
He looked up, startled. "Yuuka."
"I'm not sharing a room with you."
"This is not the time to be difficult."
"This is exactly the time."
He frowned. "You're letting this get personal. The cost will be deducted from our paycheck."
"You made it personal when you decided I'm still a little kid who needs watching. What, you want to watch over me sleeping too?"
"I'm just trying to keep you safe."
"By freezing me in a version of myself that doesn't exist anymore?"
"Then show me it doesn't exist anymore. Behave."
"No, you don't get to use this against me!"
Her voice wavered, followed only by strained breaths. The silence stretched.
Tsurugi looked down at his phone. For a moment, she thought he'd argue. Push. Dig in.
Instead, his thumb moved.
Two rooms. He didn't comment. Didn't apologize. Just booked it and locked the screen.
"Train leaves at seven thirty," he said. "We can check the map once we're seated."
Yuuka nodded once. "Good."
They both turned on their heels and went back into their rooms to pack, temporarily satisfied with the resolution.
Tokyo Station was loud in that particular way that never fully became background noise. Footsteps, rolling suitcases, announcements bleeding into one another.
Yuuka stood a little apart from Tsurugi on the platform, arms crossed in defiance.
He checked the departure board. She decided to open her can of iced coffee. Neither spoke to each other.
"Yuuka?"
She turned at the sound of her name.
Maru waved at her from a few meters away, already smiling, Cross half a step behind him, hands folded on his back like he didn't quite know where to put them.
Yuuka blinked. Once. Then again.
"Maru? Cross?"
Maru jogged over, bright as ever. "There you are! We were worried we'd missed you."
Tsurugi turned slowly. "What are you doing here?"
Cross inclined his head. "Good evening."
Maru grinned, oblivious to the temperature drop. "Council sent us along. Said it would be good for cooperation. You know, shared fieldwork, trust-building, seeing if us, Simurians, are capable of these jobs, all that."
Yuuka's brows knitted together. "Along. As in…"
"As in Fukuoka," Maru said cheerfully. "Same mission."
Tsurugi's eyes flicked immediately to Yuuka. Just for a second.
"You weren't informed?" Cross asked, mildly.
"No," Tsurugi said flatly.
Maru tilted his head. "Huh. That's strange. But you already booked rooms and everything."
Yuuka felt something sink in her stomach. "Rooms."
"Yeah," Maru said, fishing his temporary phone out of his pocket. "Two doubles. Council assumed you already knew we were joining, since there were two rooms on the request."
The words hung there.
Yuuka slowly turned to Tsurugi.
His expression didn't change. That might've been worse.
"You booked two rooms," Maru repeated, still smiling. "So they figured, perfect, everyone's already accounted for. Otherwise we had to book our own."
Cross's gaze flicked between them. He said nothing.
Yuuka exhaled, sharp and quiet. "Well, that was not quite the case."
Tsurugi closed his eyes for half a second. "I booked those rooms because—" He stopped himself.
Maru finally sensed something was off. His smile faltered. "Uh. Did we interrupt something? You invited others?"
"No," Yuuka said quickly. Too quickly. "It's nothing important. We can figure it out when we get there."
Tsurugi looked at her. She pulled him down by his collar.
"You could have told me," she yelled in a desperate whisper-scream. "I thought you listened to me! You tricked me!"
"There was nothing to tell," he replied in tune. "They didn't inform me either!"
"Funny how that keeps happening. If only we were prepared."
Cross cleared his throat. "If this is an inconvenience, we can request a reassignment."
"No," Tsurugi said immediately, straightening himself. "Let's get you on good terms with the elders."
Yuuka watched him make the decision without looking at her. Again.
The announcement for their train echoed across the platform. The four of them scurried inside, awkwardly sharing a four-seater. Yuuka tried her best to appear nonchalant as she was once again forced to sit next to her brother.
Maru glanced between them, noting the tension in Tsurugi's eyes, then scratched the back of his neck. "If it helps, I don't mind sharing a bed with Cross. We've even shared the womb, so…"
Cross nodded once. "That would be acceptable."
Yuuka didn't miss the way the solution appeared before Tsurugi even offered one.
"I'll take one room alone," she said.
Tsurugi's head snapped toward her. "What are you even saying?"
"It would be preferable for me."
Maru hesitated. "Yuuka—"
"It's what I want," she said, not meeting his eyes. "Really."
Tsurugi leaned closer, voice dropping. "This isn't the time."
"You already said that."
Cross stepped in smoothly. "Then it's settled. Maru and I will take one room. Yuuka, you'll have the other. Tsurugi can book an extra room if needed."
Yuuka almost laughed.
"If needed," she repeated. "I'm sure there is enough space for the three of you."
Tsurugi didn't argue. That, more than anything, hurt.
He stood there for a moment, jaw tight, then turned away and took a seat one row back. His headphones were already in his hands, untangled with practiced efficiency.
Yuuka looked through the window instead, pretending like nothing had happened. She didn't even check his reflection, but she felt the irritation radiating off him all the same.
The train hummed to life beneath them, a low vibration that seeped into the seats.
Yuuka watched the platform slide away, buildings blurring into gray bands. Across from her, Maru shifted once, then twice, clearly restless.
Cross noticed everything. He looked at the way Tsurugi hadn't leaned back. The angle of his shoulders, squared too rigidly for comfort. The headphones sat on his neck now, not over his ears. A choice, as if he was listening in on them.
Yuuka's hands were folded in her lap. She seemed to hold them still.
Maru cleared his throat. "So," he said brightly, a little too loud for the quiet car. "Fukuoka, huh. I haven't yet been outside Tokyo. But I heard the food stalls there are incredible."
Yuuka nodded. "They are."
Her voice was neutral. Polite.
Maru seized on it. "Really? I mean, last time I ate ramen at three in the morning and nearly cried. In a good way. You mean to say we can experience something even better over there?"
A beat.
Cross glanced at Yuuka. Then, briefly, toward the seat behind them. He said nothing.
Maru laughed at his own comment, stretching his arms. "We should probably celebrate surviving the mission in advance. Set expectations low, you know."
Yuuka's mouth twitched. Barely.
"I'm not celebrating until it's done," she said carefully, almost bracing against an argument from Maru. "Don't think it'll do us good to have midnight ramen before an important mission."
"Fair," Maru replied immediately. "Extremely fair. We'll downgrade it to 'post-mission carbohydrate acquisition.'"
That earned him a quiet huff from her. Not quite a laugh, but close enough to loosen up the tension.
Cross watched the exchange, filing it away. He did not look completely relieved.
Behind them, Tsurugi shifted. The faint click of his phone unlocking echoed in the short silence that followed.
The hotel lobby smelled faintly of disinfectant and stale coffee.
Yuuka accepted the key cards from the clerk and turned toward the elevators. The four of them entered. They opened the first door. Tsurugi stopped short.
"Hold on."
She paused.
He glanced beneath the bed, then at the receipt in his hands. "Two rooms. Double occupancy."
"Yes."
"They're detachable beds," he said, already nodding to himself and unlatching the frames. "We can just separate them. I'll move mine to the wall."
Yuuka didn't answer right away. She waited until Tsurugi finished shoving his half to the far side.
"No," she said finally.
Tsurugi blinked, letting go of the frame slowly. "What."
"I don't want to share a room with you."
His brow furrowed. "That's not what this is. You'll have your own bed. I can even move yours to the other side."
"That's not the point."
He exhaled sharply. "Then what is?"
"I want privacy."
The word landed wrong.
"From me?" he asked, incredulous. "We're on a mission. I'm going to be on your ass all day."
"Exactly."
"You think separating beds isn't enough?"
"I don't want to be in the same room with you."
Some guests passing through the hallway glanced over.
Tsurugi's voice lowered, tight. "You're being unreasonable. It's just one night."
Yuuka lifted her chin. "I'm setting a boundary."
"A boundary," he repeated. "After everything?"
She looked at him now. "After everything. You want to overstep it?"
"You think I'm watching you in your sleep or something?"
"Yes. Yes, I think you do. And I am creeped out by it. I would like to feel safe."
"You are safe. I'm the one protecting you."
"I didn't ask you to."
"I'm your brother."
"So what?"
That's when it tipped.
"Yuuka, you're acting like a damned brat," Tsurugi snapped. "Do you honestly think this is helping your case? Stop making a scene and get in the room!"
Yuuka's hands curled at her sides. "This is exactly why I don't want to share a room!"
"You're pushing me away because I won't let you have your way after throwing these childish tantrums all day! Grow up!"
"I'm pushing you away because I can't rest when you're hovering all over me!"
He took a step closer. "You think I'm the problem here?"
"I think I need space from you."
Silence cracked between them.
Maru cleared his throat loudly. "Okay. Hi. I would like to speak."
Tsurugi barely heard him.
"You don't get to shut me out when we're in the field," he said. "We are colleagues here, not family. You have to keep your personal matters separate from the job."
"I do," Yuuka said, voice shaking despite herself. "I just want privacy from you. For one night. That's all."
Maru stepped in fast. "Then, then I'll sleep with Yuuka."
Everyone froze.
"What," Tsurugi said, a threat building in his voice.
"I mean—no, not like that," Maru rushed. "Just so she's not alone, and you can both cool off."
Tsurugi turned on him, stomping closer. "You are not sleeping with my sister."
Cross closed his eyes briefly.
Yuuka opened her mouth. "Maru, you don't have to—"
"It's fine," Maru insisted, desperate now. "I snore, I talk in my sleep, and I'm extremely unthreatening. I won't lay even a finger on her."
"This is not your call," Tsurugi snapped.
Cross stepped forward, voice level.
"I'll stay with Yuuka."
All eyes turned to him.
"The beds are detachable," Cross continued calmly. "We'll separate them. There will be no issue."
Tsurugi stared at him, his fury tight and silent.
Yuuka tensed up so badly that her head might have popped off right there and then.
After a long moment, Tsurugi exhaled sharply and turned aside.
"Fine."
The word was clipped. Final.
"But if anything happens—"
"Nothing will," Cross said. "I promise."
Yuuka stayed silent, just nodding once.
They split after that.
In the room, Maru fidgeted beside Tsurugi, who stood rigid and silent, eyes focused on the other two as they disappeared around the corner.
"Hey," Maru muttered. "For what it's worth… I was trying to help."
Tsurugi didn't respond.
Down the hall, Yuuka followed Cross to the other room. He unlocked the door and stepped aside for her.
Inside, the lights flicked on.
One bed.
Wide. No latch. No gap. Undeniably a proper double.
Yuuka stopped short.
Cross closed the door behind them and exhaled slowly.
"… I wasn't aware of this configuration," he said evenly.
Yuuka lets out a breath that might have been a laugh. Or a sigh.
"Well, he doesn't know," she said.
Cross shook his head once. "No. He would have said something."
They stood there for a moment, the absurdity hanging quietly between them. He glanced at her, then at the chair, as if already weighing discomfort against her ease of mind. He would rather not come off as forceful as Tsurugi.
"We'll manage," Cross said. "It seems wide enough. Otherwise I'll take the chair."
Yuuka finally looked at him. "You don't have to. I trust you won't do anything weird."
"I'll still do it if it makes you more comfortable; I don't mind."
"It's fine… thank you, Cross."
Yuuka set her bag down first, unzipping it with unhurried movements.
She took out her toiletries, lining them neatly along the narrow counter in the bathroom. The mirror light hummed softly when she flicked it on. Cross lingered in the doorway for a moment, then followed, setting his own bag down on the opposite side like he was careful not to cross an invisible line.
She started washing her hands. The sound of running water filled the space.
Cross cleared his throat once. Quietly. "I'll… wash my face too."
She nodded without looking at him. "Go ahead."
They moved around each other with polite awareness; he waited a fraction of a second before stepping closer to the sink, and she shifted just enough to give him room. He splashed water over his face, brisk and efficient. She started her skincare routine, slow and methodical, eyes on her reflection rather than him.
The mirror caught them both anyway. Two figures quietly sharing a space without touching. His eyes flicked to her reflection once before he deliberately looked away again.
He reached for his toothbrush, paused, then gestured lightly toward the counter. She slid her things aside without comment. He brushed his teeth in silence, gaze unfocused, as if giving her privacy even while standing right beside her.
After a moment, he spoke, his voice calm and matter-of-fact.
"I'm going to change in the bedroom," he said. "I'll tell you when I'm done."
"It's fine," she replied. "I won't look."
He stepped out and closed the door anyway.
She continued what she was doing, unbothered. The rustle of fabric behind her was muted and careful. Both of them undressed with no hurry or tension, taking their time on opposite ends of the door. Cross muttered that he had finished.
When she was done, she capped her bottles again and turned off the light.
Back in the room, Cross had folded his clothes neatly and set them on the chair. He was already sitting on the edge of the bed, leaving her side open without making a point of it.
Yuuka removed her slippers, her movements relaxed now. She sat, then lay down on her half of the bed, pulling the blanket up to her chest.
Cross waited until she was settled before lying back himself, keeping to his side. There was enough space between them.
The night light on his side clicked off.
Yuuka exhaled and closed her eyes.
Cross did the same.
The room settled into stillness after the light went out.
At first, it seemed like sleep might come easily. The bed was firm, the sheets clean, and the hum of the city outside distant and steady. Yuuka lay on her side, hands folded near her chest, breathing slow and measured.
Then she shifted.
Just slightly at first. A small adjustment of her shoulder. A careful breath in through her nose, out through parted lips. She went still again, as if testing whether the feeling would pass.
It didn't.
Cross noticed the change without moving, a faint tension settling in his chest that had nothing to do with his own thoughts. He kept his eyes closed, his breathing even, giving her the space to settle if she could. Another minute passed. Then another.
Yuuka swallowed.
Her hand lifted, then fell back against the mattress. She drew her knees up a fraction, the motion restrained but restless. The quiet stretched thin.
Cross turned his head a little, just enough to see her silhouette in the low light. Her brow was faintly furrowed. She wasn't panicking. She wasn't in pain either. Just… unsettled. Perhaps overthinking?
"Hey… are you having trouble sleeping?" he asked softly.
"No," she answered after a moment. Her voice was steady, but thin around the edges. "I mean, yes… Sorry."
"There's nothing to apologize for. Is it your illness?"
She didn't reply. Her breathing was shallow now, uneven in a way that suggested she was thinking too hard to rest. The silence that followed wasn't uncomfortable, just heavy.
After a while, she spoke again. "No… I just keep replaying it."
He didn't ask what. He didn't need to.
Cross shifted onto his side, careful not to jostle the bed when he faced her. "Tsurugi."
"Yes."
Another pause. Longer this time.
"You won't have to worry about him tonight," he said. "Maru will keep him locked in there, I can assure you of that."
She let out a quiet breath that sounded almost like a laugh. "I don't think my mind quite works like that."
"No," he agreed. "But you can worry about that in the morning again."
Her fingers tightened slightly in the blanket. She didn't turn toward him, but she didn't pull away either.
"I'm fine," she said. "It's just… mental noise. It'll pass."
Cross watched the slow rise and fall of her shoulders. The way her jaw set, like she was bracing against something invisible.
He waited a few more seconds before speaking again.
"If it helps," he said, quietly enough that only she could hear it, "I can stay awake with you."
She hesitated. "You don't have to."
"I know. But you can complain to me if you want. I'll listen."
That earned him a small, tired huff of breath from her. She shifted again, this time rolling onto her back, staring up at the dark ceiling.
The minutes passed quietly.
Cross shifted his weight slightly, one arm folded beneath his head as he stared up into the dark with her.
"You know," he said after a while, voice low, "Maru is difficult in his own way. He's not overprotective of me, but he can be a burden on my mind."
Yuuka turned her head just enough to look at him.
"He doesn't mean to be," Cross continued. "But he rushes into things. Acts first, thinks later. He's obsessed with being a warrior, with honor and sacrifice. When we were younger, I spent a lot of time making sure he didn't get himself killed due to his recklessness."
She huffed softly. "That sounds obnoxious as hell."
"Yes." There was a faint trace of something wry in his tone. "Different personalities. Same problem."
Another pause.
"It's… tiring," he added. "Caring for someone who believes fear is the same thing as weakness. I understand your frustration."
Yuuka swallowed. Her fingers loosened in the blanket.
"But I don't think Tsurugi sees you as weak or incapable," Cross said, as if reading the tension in her shoulders. "I think he sees someone precious he couldn't protect once. He's acting from his own guilt. And he doesn't know how to stop making up for it now."
"That doesn't excuse his behavior," she murmured.
"No," he agreed. "It doesn't."
He turned his head slightly toward her. "For what it's worth, your caution makes sense to me. Wanting to be prepared is not the same as being afraid."
She was quiet for a long moment. It stretched on, soft and heavy, until her breathing shifted again.
Cross noticed it before she spoke in the faint hitch, in the way her chest rose too quickly, then stilled as if she were trying to rein it in. He stayed where he was, giving her the chance to pull back if she wanted to.
She didn't.
"I don't like feeling small," she said suddenly. Her voice was low, almost careful. "I hate it."
He turned his head toward her, fully this time.
"I try not to," she went on, staring up at the ceiling. "I joke. I smile. I act like it doesn't get to me. But sometimes it feels like my entire clan is waiting for me to… break. Or fail. Or need help. I'm supposed to be strong, but everyone's out to limit what I can do. To keep me small and locked up. It's unfair."
Her fingers twisted in the blanket.
"I know Tsurugi thinks he's protecting me," she said. "But every time he does that, it's like he's telling me I'll never quite be enough on my own. Like he isn't on my side at all. The only one that truly believed in my strength was my grandpa, and he—"
The words caught.
She inhaled, sharp and unsteady, and then a tear slipped free, tracing down the side of her face before she realized it had happened.
Yuuka froze.
"… Sorry," she said quickly, lifting a hand as if embarrassed by the evidence. "I didn't mean—"
Cross was already moving. He scooted closer, instinctively, then stopped, suddenly aware of how much he wanted to pull her in.
"It's all right," he said quietly. "Don't fight it for me."
Another tear followed, then another. Her composure unraveled in silence rather than sobs. She turned her face away, shoulders drawn tight, trying to swallow it back down.
"I'm sick," she admitted, the words barely audible. "You know how little time I have left. I don't talk about it. I don't want people to look at me differently. I don't want to grant them the satisfaction of pitying me."
Her voice wavered. "I don't want to be a fragile little girl."
Cross sat up fully, hesitation flickering across his face for just a second before he reached out, flicked on the light, and opened his arms. Not to pull her in, but to offer the space.
"May I?" he asked.
She nodded, a small, helpless motion.
He wrapped his arms around her gently, careful not to startle her, letting her choose how close to come. Yuuka leaned into him almost immediately, forehead pressing into his shoulder, fingers clutching the fabric of his shirt as if anchoring herself.
The hug was steady. Warm. Uncomplicated for her. For him, it sparked something deeper—an instinct to cherish and protect that surprised him with its intensity.
She breathed out against him, the tension finally giving way. Her shoulders shook once, then again, as the tears she'd held back for so long found somewhere safe to land.
"I'm so tired," she whispered. "Of being brave all the time."
"I can't even imagine how hard that is," Cross murmured.
He rested his chin lightly against the top of her head, one hand at her back, the other curled protectively at her shoulder. He didn't rush her. Didn't tell her to be strong. Just stayed with her in that moment.
After a while, her breathing slowed.
"You're not small," he said softly. "Not to me."
She sniffed a faint, embarrassed sound. "You barely know me."
"I know enough," he replied. "In my tribe, women aren't permitted to be sorcerers at all. They do not wield cursed energy. Most are never even taught to fight, even if they have the talent."
Yuuka blinked the tears from her eyes, cheek still pressed against his shoulder. "Really?"
"Really." His voice softened. "And even if they were allowed, many would still never make it as far as you. Not at your age. Not with your composure."
She stared up at him, chest tight in a way that wasn't unpleasant.
"You're tactful," he said. "You observe before you strike. You think about the consequences. That's not hesitation or fear. That's something a high-ranking general would master after years of experience. And you manage it all with a smile. I admire your strength and intelligence."
Something warm settled low in her chest. She hadn't realized how much she needed to hear it until now. No one had ever spoken to her like that without wanting something in return.
"… Thank you," she said quietly.
"You're not a helpless younger sister," he murmured. "You're a warrior. Anyone who can't see that is projecting their own fear onto you."
Yuuka tightened her grip on him for a moment, then relaxed again, resting fully against his chest. He adjusted his own hold to support her better.
Her thoughts drifted, unbidden, to her grandfather, to Yuta-jiichan's gentle hands, his calm presence, to the way he had always listened to her side first.
He would have liked Cross, she thought. Trusted him to take care of her. And the realization made her feel unexpectedly safe.
They stayed like that for a long time, the city murmuring faintly beyond the walls, the bed warm beneath them. When Yuuka finally pulled back, her eyes were tired but clear.
"Thank you," she said.
Cross gave a small nod. "Anytime."
When they lay back down, the space between them was smaller now, crossed only by their touching hands, present enough to remind her she wasn't alone.
They lay there for a moment, neither quite ready to pull away nor fall asleep just yet.
Then, Yuuka swallowed. The words slipped out before she could overthink them.
"My grandfather would have told me that you're a proper boy," she said softly. "I think… he would have wanted to meet you."
Cross stilled.
Then, after a heartbeat, a quiet huff of breath escaped him. It was filled with half amusement, half something like a warm relief.
"Dura would have been unbearable," he whispered. "If I came home with a girl who could wield cursed energy like you? He'd boast to the entire town for weeks."
Yuuka blinked.
"With a—a girl?" she repeated, faintly.
He seemed to realize it a fraction of a second too late. His head turned, just slow enough for her to still see the dark blush climbing up his cheeks.
"I mean—" He cleared his throat once. "That is… if I ever brought someone home. Hypothetically. You know."
The silence that followed was different.
Heat crept up Yuuka's neck before she could stop it. Her face felt warm. She was suddenly very aware of how close his hand was to hers. Of how rugged his breathing was. Of how carefully he was not looking at her.
Oh.
Her fingers twitched, then curled slightly, as if unsure what to do with the knowledge.
"I—" she started, then stopped. Her voice came out quieter. "My grandpa would have also liked that. You know. You. Coming home. With me."
Cross finally looked at her then, an earnest smile on his face. His cheeks were still a bright red, and he felt a little exposed as he breathed out, "I'm glad."
Yuuka turned onto her side, pulling the blanket up just a bit higher, heart beating faster than before. It took her a moment to realize she was smiling too.
When the lights finally went out again, they lay in silence for a while longer, both of them a little more aware of the other's breathing.
Yuuka shifted first.
It was subtle: barely more than the slide of her foot against the sheets, the careful adjustment of her shoulder as she turned onto her side. She hesitated there, breath held for a second, then edged a little closer, as if testing whether he would allow it.
Cross noticed immediately. He did not move at once.
He waited, giving her the chance to stop, to pull back, to decide. When she didn't, when her hand brushed his sleeve and lingered there uncertainly, he shifted just enough to make room, angling his body toward hers without closing the distance himself.
Yuuka's fingers curled into the fabric of his shirt. Tentative. Shy.
"… Is this okay?" she murmured, barely louder than the city noises beyond the walls.
"Yes," he answered at once, his voice low and steady. "Of course."
Only then did he lift his arm, slow and deliberate, laying it around her shoulders without pulling her in, leaving the choice with her.
She took it.
Yuuka tucked herself against his side, cheek pressing to his chest, the warmth of him grounding her in a way she hadn't realized she needed. Her movements were careful, almost apologetic, but she didn't retreat. Instead, she settled there, fingers bunching lightly in his shirt again as if trying to pull him even closer.
Cross adjusted the blanket with his free hand, drawing it up over her back. His arm remained loose, supportive rather than possessive. He didn't stroke her hair, nor tighten his hold. He simply kept it there, leaving her in control.
Her breathing evened out gradually, syncing with the slow rise and fall beneath her cheek.
"… You're very kind," she mumbled softly, eyes already half-closed.
He let out a quiet breath, something between a laugh and a sigh.
"I try," he replied. For you.
Cross stayed awake a while longer after her breathing had slowed.
He was aware of every small detail: the warmth of her cheek against his chest, the deliberate way she had chosen to come closer rather than be pulled, and the soft puff of breath against his collarbone each time she shifted in her sleep.
He realized, distantly, that he was holding himself differently than usual. Not guarded. Not tense. But steady, anchored by a quiet sense of responsibility he hadn't carried like this before.
He did not think about what this might become.
He thought only that, for tonight, she felt safe enough to rest. And that he would see to it that she remained so for as long as he could keep her close.
Not long after, he joined her in sleep, awkwardly tangled in the sheets but nestled safely in each other's arms.