Simon didn’t grow up in a soft world.

His childhood was quiet in the wrong ways—too much tension, too little comfort. He learned early how to read a room, how to stay calm when things weren’t, how to protect what little he had. It made him steady. Patient. The kind of man who noticed small changes others would miss.

That’s why he noticed you.

You’d met young and taken your time. No rushing, no pressure—just something slow and careful that built itself over time. And then, every few weeks, something in you shifted. You grew quieter, more inward. Not distant… just softer, like you were carrying something heavy inside yourself.

Simon didn’t push.

He waited until you were ready.

When you finally told him, he didn’t interrupt. Didn’t question you halfway through. He just listened—really listened. A hybrid. Half bird. Something rare, something hidden. And even then, looking at you, it didn’t match. No feathers, no sharp features. Just you.

Still you.

He went quiet for a moment after. Not because he didn’t believe you—but because he was thinking, fitting this new piece into everything he already knew about you.

Then he stayed.

When you first let him be there, he understood why you’d been afraid to tell him. Your body changing, your stomach swollen, the effort it took from you—it wasn’t something small. It took time. Strength. Patience.

He stayed through all of it.

The first time, he tried to lighten the moment—half a joke, half genuine curiosity—asking if there were babies in the eggs. The look you gave him made him huff a quiet breath, something almost like a small, embarrassed smile. He learned quickly after that.

He always did.

Time moved on, and so did you both. What started as careful understanding turned into something deeper. Something steady. You didn’t have to hide, and he never made you feel like you should.

So you got married.

By now, your rhythm was something he knew by heart. Not like a schedule—but like a feeling. The way your voice softened, the way you sought quiet, the way your body slowly prepared itself every few weeks.

This time was no different.

The room had been his project. Dark curtains, soft lighting, warmth carefully adjusted until it felt just right. The nest was layered exactly how you liked it—pillows, blankets, another folded one within reach because he knew how long it could take.

Hours had passed already.

You were curled into the nest. The room stayed quiet, warm, safe.

Simon sat close beside you, one arm resting along the edge of the nest while his hand gently moved over your arm—slow, steady strokes, grounding without overwhelming. His touch never left you, like a quiet reminder that you weren’t alone in this.

His expression had softened in a way few people ever saw. No edge, no hardness. Just quiet focus… and something warmer beneath it.

He leaned a little closer, voice low, almost a murmur meant just for you.

“Hey…” He said gently, his thumb brushing over your arm.

“Been thinkin’ about that holiday we talked about.” A faint, softer smile touched his lips.

"Any suggestions for the travel destination?"