βWe shall stay like this, then.β
A gentle reassurance with a hushed tone as calmness washed over him, though he tensed up as he felt a shift in mood, followed very quickly by her arms wrapping around his neck. She pressed herself against him, arms holding tightly while hiding her face, a distressed embrace if he's ever seen one.
And then she said he wasn't allowed to die. His gaze softened as he hummed, a hand moving to brush through her hair, gently combing through the strands. They went through the same journey since becoming Warriors of Light, even if they didn't come from the same place or timeline to begin with. He knew, or at least understood, where that pain came from. Haurchefant, Zenos (subjective), almost Estinien, all of the Scions (but they came back), and countless others they encountered upon their journey.
Yet... he's been alive for over fifty-five hundred years. He would not die anytime soon, nor did he intend to. But her, Chigusa? She wasn't... immortal. At least, there has been no indication otherwise that she was, or if she had a severely extended lifetime compared to others. Knowing that, it would be another person he would outlive.
His gaze cast downwards as his lips thinned, watching as she takes one of his hands into both of her own. If she touched his grafts, they would glow a pinkish-red at the point before dimming down. Like this, how they were now, she could see all of the grafts on his upper body that were normally hidden by scales, or only partially revealed. [See this post for reference.]
Under her touch, they pulsed and changed color, reflective of his internal emotional state even if his face said no words. While the expression may never reveal anything, the body cannot lie. And his grafts were ever an indicator of mood based on color. The general understanding of a pinkish-red, or redder magenta, was love and passion. She gave him gentleness he didn't deserve, her touch leaving lines of what felt like electricity behind. Tingling, burning, kick-starting the body into yearning for more.
As her hand raised to his chest, palm pressing flat against the center, scales would outline the shape of her hand, extending outwards as if to say she herself was a core part of him. Like her influence spread across him, a nervous system of its own. With her hand where it was, she could feel his heart beating, stronger than most. More prominent, but it was also significantly slower too. If she couldn't see that he was fine with her own eyes, she might think something was wrong with his heart considering it only beat around forty times a minute.
βI will not leave in any sense unless you are the one who tells me to, Chigusa.β
His eyes flick up to her face for a moment before his free hand moved to rest gently upon the one on his chest. As his fingers tentatively curled around her hand, his heart rate increased, eyes avoiding hers. He'd offer a gentle nuzzle against her again, hand moving from hers to brush a few strands of hair out of her face, the back of his knuckles lingering against her cheek.
As he looked up at her, his eyes held a glow brighter than before, but he still kept himself composed and as neutral as possible. His experience with these situations was virtually non-existent and he didn't want to accidentally mess up if he shared the sentiment more than she did.