.
.
The night is quiet when she wakes.
Beside her, Kazuma is sleeping. His body is warm and his face is pressed against her nape. Turning to face him, she reaches up and presses a soft kiss on his cheek; he shifts and his eyes slowly blink open, quiet and soft with a gentle expression. She smiles and they kiss, slowly and gently.
Her hand gently traces a line along the side of his cheek. He has never lost that rounded softness, the hint of boyish baby fat that seemed so prominent in the old days. He looks so young, Bishamon thinks, and realizes that change was in how he carried himself - the squaring of the shoulders, the straightness of his spine, the pitch of his voice modulated to carry more authority. But here now, he is as soft and guileless as when she first met him. Her fingers splay out over his chest, feeling the bump of his clavicle and the ragged edge of old scars, the angry line where she had cut him. Quietly she dips down and rubs her mouth over the spot; he sighs and she reaches up to kiss him again, her lips curving into a smile as they brush against his.
She leans back against his chest, feeling warm and content lying against him. She feels him gently carding his fingers along her scalp, shifting a bit to hold her.
"We should do this every night," she murmurs. "Kazuma. Why haven't we?"
He chuckles and presses a kiss against her forehead. "I didn't know you felt this way about me."
She traces a line across his ribs and considers, quietly. "Why else would I have you name me?"
She can read his expression - he was just a small nail, her love for him was something unfathomable.
They start to sleep. She nestles in his arms, reveling a little at how good and warm and safe he feels. She presses another soft kiss against his neck before tucking herself against him. She feels him kiss her hair before shifting her closer.