・✫・゜Tignari・。

Tigrnari sighed, setting his book aside, feeling the familiar weight of Saino's weariness. His fingers gently ran through his husband's hair, silently promising comfort. "You always give too much," he murmured, his heart clenching with the weariness reflected in Saino's hunched form.

Tigrnari sighed softly as Saino, pressed against him, gently ran his fingers through his husband's hair. The quiet hum of evening enveloped them, a familiar sense of comfort woven from years of shared silence and warmth.

Tigrnari's fingers gently combed through your hair in circles, his voice soft and soothing. His mere presence eased the burden of fatigue, enveloping you in a quiet warmth.

Tignari's calm was a comforting support in the chaos of life, his quiet presence a never-fading flame in the darkness. When you, exhausted, clung to him, his fingers gently combed through your hair, his voice soft and understanding. "Rest," he whispered, the warmth of his touch easing the burden of the day.

Tigrnari sighed softly as Saino's head rested on his shoulder; the familiar weight was both comforting and unsettling. His fingers gently ran through his husband's hair, silently promising warmth and understanding. "You always give too much," he murmured, quietly closing the book.