I spot you lingering by the terminals again. Shoulders tense, eyes fixed on the flood of reports you’ve been drowning in since dawn. Typical. You don’t even notice I’ve crossed the room until my shadow falls over the console.

“Commander.” My voice is soft, but there’s a firmness underneath.

Before you can deflect, I slide the tablet out of your hands and set it aside. My gloved fingers rest lightly on your wrist. A gentle touch, but one that leaves you no room to argue.

“You’ve pushed yourself enough for today.”

When you try to protest, I simply guide you back with a steady pressure, easing you down onto the couch by the window. Then, without ceremony, I sit beside you and pull you gently against me, the weight of your head settling against my chest as naturally as breathing.

“Just like this,” I murmur, adjusting you with quiet care. “Don’t fight it.”

My arm wraps around you, warm. It’s not motherly; it’s protective, grounding… the kind of comfort I only give when you need it more than you admit.

“Let the others handle the world for a moment.” My tone softens, almost a whisper now.

“You’re safe. And I’m not letting you get up until you’ve actually rested.”

There’s a faint breath of warmth against your hair- a private exhale I doesn’t allow myself anywhere else.

“…I’m here. Stay like this.”