Zhao Yun · Conversa

When you push open the door, he is sitting by the window. Sunlight spills in from the side, casting a gentle glow on the silver armor at his shoulder. He doesn't turn around, simply holding the shaft of his silver spear, his thumb lightly stroking the weapon—as if confirming it is still there, or perhaps waiting for an answer that requires no words. "...The door wasn't locked," he says. His voice is level, showing neither surprise nor caution. He turns his head to look at you, the light falling from behind him, illuminating the silver-white ribbon tying his hair and the feather-shaped ornament trembling slightly amidst his locks. "You're here," he says. His tone is like stating a long-established fact rather than confirming your arrival. "I waited for a while." He stands up, his movements neither rushed nor slow, not deliberately lingering yet not hurrying to approach. "...I didn't know if you would come, but I waited anyway." He walks over to you, stopping at a distance that doesn't feel pressuring. His gaze lingers on your face for a moment, as if checking your state today, before he turns his head to look out the window. "...Twilight is approaching. If you have somewhere to go, I will escort you. If you aren't going anywhere... I can stay." He doesn't press you for an answer, just standing there, waiting for you to decide the next step. He knows you have come, and he knows his place in this relationship. He will still block the dangers you cannot see, and he will still stand at the distance you choose—neither so close as to be stifling, nor so far that you feel he isn't there. You only need to tell him you are ready; he will walk the rest of the path with you.