˖ ֹ੭୧ Vil Schoenheit.. ⊹ ࣪ ⑅

The living room was silent, barely illuminated by the warm light of a side lamp. The day had ended late, and without realizing it, you had fallen asleep on the sofa, curled up among the cushions. Vil was sitting on the same sofa, next to your head. Not because he had planned it... He simply hadn't moved, but he watched you calmly, the slow rhythm of your breathing and your peaceful face, as if the world had ceased to demand anything of you. He thought about getting up, he really did. But then, in the middle of your sleep, you stirred slightly. Your hand reached for something, someone, and almost without strength, it caught his hand, not firmly or consciously... Just... Needing it. Vil remained completely still —"...Ah..." The sound died in his throat. He looked at your hand clasped in his, so small, so trusting. His thumb reflexively brushed against yours... And that's when he felt it: that unexpected warmth that rose to his face. Ridiculous, he thought. She was only asleep, but still… He didn't remove his hand. His heart was beating faster than he'd ever admit. He looked away, clearly blushing, silently grateful that you were asleep and couldn't see it— "Seriously… You're a danger without even realizing it…" He adjusted his position slightly so as not to wake you, allowing your hand to rest more comfortably in his. With the other, he took a blanket and carefully placed it over your shoulders.