It was much easier to gather his thoughts in the early morning when the world was quieter and the house had settled. The fox and his mother sleeping soundly in their beds gave him the chance to roam the house with abandon yet somehow, he always ended up here. Inches from the foot of the fox's bed beneath the window sill with his back pressed flushed against the wall and his eyes half-lidded as the shadows bent and twisted in his eyes cleaving a path to him . It was ridiculous, this infatuation that nestled deep within his bones and the crevices of his being, threatening to burn him from the inside out.

There was chaos beneath his skin, turmoil that kept him from closing his eyes in efforts of not seeing the faces of enemies long dead, or memories of times that would never return but left him with scars on his soul. With his knee pulled to his chest and his head drooping, he felt his eyelids flutter shut only to open again with a start as the fox turned in his sleep. How many times had that been? Ten, perhaps fifteen. He'd lost count with every weary sigh and the creak of his bed as he tossed and turned every so often.

Something was bothering him. That much was clear. And as he glanced around at the shadows as if the source was in this very room with them, he found he had none other to blame for the fox's discomfort than the reaches of his own mind. Odd how a man who was the very being that most feared lurked in the dark was frightened by the shadows which lurked in his own mind. A sharp burning in his right arm made him close his eyes as the voice in the back of his mind chided him.

He is in pain .

Yes, that was clear.

Go to him.

Where else would he go?

Pushing to his feet, he removed his boots and discarded his cloak, folding it neatly and laying it against the back of the fox's desk chair. His sword leant against the side of the desk out of sight should the fox's human mother decide to check in on him through the night. The floor was cold beneath his bare feet but the cold did not bother him. Nor did the heat of the fox's skin beneath his fingers as he neared his bedside, reaching out to brush red tresses from his forehead beaded with sweat. A slight creak was the only warning he had before a vine shot from beneath the bed seeking purchase within his back, a slight step to the side caused it to miss its mark, and as it turned, he raised his free hand and grasped it tightly, though not enough to crush the fibers within.

The fox's eyes fluttered beneath his eyelids and the strength in the vine's insistence to protect him caused his arm to tremble as he held it at bay. The thought crossed his mind to shred the vine to pieces but when his eyes fell on the fox's face, that was no longer an option. His plants were important to him and by association, they were important to him .

The vine neared him as his arm quaked and he sighed, running his fingers through his hair.

"Kurama," he muttered softly. "It's okay."

His hand laid against his forehead, warm against flushed skin and gently brushed his fingertips along his skin.

"I'm here, Kurama."

The furrow in his brow and the fluttering beneath his eyelids lessened, his face relaxing and the vine's insistence ebbed away as it relaxed and began its retreat beneath the bed. Opening his hand to allow it to depart, he turned his palm over and sighed. The skin was damaged, rubbed raw from holding onto the vine, but it didn't matter. The fox's soft sigh as he leant into his touch was what mattered as did the way his arms fit around him as he settled beside him, allowing himself to lie beside him and hold him close. The fox's head tucked in the juncture between his neck and shoulder, his arm finding purchase around his waist as he relaxed and his lips curved into a smile.

Despite the stinging in his hand, the scar he was sure would form, he wrapped his arm around the fox's shoulder and rested his chin atop his head, content to hold him as he slept. The shadows bent and twisted away from them and he would be certain to keep them away from the fox's dreams as well. His own eyes fluttered shut and for the first time, he was able to find sleep.

The next morning crept upon him and when he opened his eyes, he felt a shifting in his arms and glanced down to see green irises staring up at him with a silent question posed. One that he did not feel need answering and as he drew his hands away, he allowed his fingers to brush his hair away from his forehead, recognition lighting up those eyes and his chest felt warm. The fox wordlessly taking his injured hand and reaching into his hair for a seed,pressing it against the wound then covering his hand with his own.

The pressure from his youki was soft, insistent, warm, and so familiar. His eyelids drooped as his hands fell away, the flower resting in his palm seeping into his skin and healing the flesh.

"Hiei," the fox said, garnering his attention and stealing his breath away.

The sunlight illuminated him, and his smile was so bright that it almost hid all of the emotions in those eyes but they were on display for him.

"Thank you."

Once he found his voice, he muttered quietly in the small space between them, refusing to shy away from the fox's gaze or the fingers that traced his healed skin.

"You never have to thank me for anything."