Kiki's not the touchy feely sort or the type of person to completely lay down her defenses and relax around other people very easily. She keeps her guard up, raises her hackles, keeps a solid wall of defense between herself and others and thus avoids vulnerability.
Yet, Mitsuhide is the type of person who makes her feel at home, who brings warmth in spades with him to wherever he goes, the type who brings just enough sunlight in to drown the room with the light of possibility. And she feels safe around him.
There's no darkness in Mitsuhide, or at least none that she's ever spotted. He's sunlight and warmth and home, and it's a little hard to find more than enough words to cover all of that. And here, she is, safe next to him.
Perhaps caution has long since flown out of the window, perhaps she feels as if she's stepped back into her home, perhaps there's a different, better explanation for all of this. She relaxes her shoulders, relaxes the rest of her, lets the exhaustion and stress of the day melt away. And tiredness wins over.
Mitsuhide's shoulder isn't stiff, nor is it unwelcoming. Instead, it cushions her head, and she falls into an easy, light, and relaxed sleep. And he's sitting beside her left more than a little dazed.
He looks around as if searching the room for answers, and the nervous blush on his face more than proves that he hasn't found any. But he forces himself to relax, though relaxing just makes his mind focus a bit more on the obvious.
Kiki is warm against his side, usually a pillar of unstoppable strength, but right now, she's like a cushion of absolute warmth. Mitsuhide's arm isn't on fire, but he feels so warm, pleasantly so. And he feels comfortable, now that he's relaxed himself and stopped panicking.
And yet, it's nice here. It's easy by her side; it has always been easy by her side. She holds strength beyond what most people are capable of grasping, and she brings it with her everywhere she goes. Her quiet is relaxing; her humor sometimes makes him almost embarrassed, not out of being risque, but because he's sometimes the one she's poking fun at. Yet her words are never harsh or spiteful. She doesn't really think poorly of him.
Mitsuhide thinks Kiki must hold him in high regard. She lets him witness so many different sides of her, smiles at him sometimes in a way that makes him feel like he's seeing sunlight for the first time, all of that awe and all of that joy.
And right now, though, he's just comfortable, privy to a side of her that she doesn't typically show others, and he doesn't mean to relax so much. And yet, he falls asleep too, head resting overtop hers, and they are napping, a full day before them that they are overlooking for this quiet respite together.
Mitsuhide knows this is trust, a special kind born out of their unique relationship, a trust that every day he's grateful for.
