Her palms were warm, yet her touch was exceptionally soft, devoid of any calluses left by sword training.
Her thumb traced lightly across Mirai's cheekbone, and then Mikoto's arms tightened, pulling him in close.
The sounds in the room gradually blurred.
The wind outside the window blew in from the woods, carrying the rustling of leaves that covered everything.
Mikoto's gentleness matched her personality—quiet, lingering, and all-encompassing.
It was like warm water slowly washing over stones, filling every single crevice.
In her arms, Mirai could feel something completely different from Kushina.
Kushina was fire—fiery, direct, carrying a foolish, reckless drive.
Mikoto was water—gentle, calm, but unfathomably deep.
As the night grew deeper, the two leaned against each other, neither speaking another word.
Mikoto hugged Mirai's back tighter, her fingertips pressing slightly into his shoulder blades and leaving a faint mark.
"Does it hurt?"
"...A little."
"Then I'll be gentler."
"No need." Mikoto's voice was very soft, yet resolute, "Keep going."
Mirai lowered his head and whispered something softly into her ear.
Mikoto's face flushed completely red, but she didn't refute it, simply burying her face into the crook of his neck.
Gradually, only the sound of breathing and occasional whispered murmurs remained in the room.
Outside the window, the leaves in the courtyard swayed gently in the wind, and sunlight filtered in through the paper shoji, dyeing the entire room in a warm, pale golden hue.
After a long while, Mikoto lay in the crook of Mirai's arm, her breathing slowly steadying.
Her hair was scattered across the pillow, a few strands clinging to the side of her cheek, and her face still carried a faint flush.
"Mirai-kun."
"Hm."
"I love you!"
Mirai shuddered all over and looked down at her.
"Mikoto-nee, me too!"
The corners of Mikoto's mouth curved