“But what’s crazy is…” Erik’s voice cuts through the apartment, already heated, already rolling. He’s talking from the bedroom, pacing, words stacking on top of each other like he’s been holding them in all day. He’s been yapping away about power and politics for the past fifteen minutes. About people pretending not to see what’s right in front of them. Ever the diplomat, that one.

You don’t answer right away. You’re busy at the sink, focused, going through your nighttime skincare while he keeps going. At some point his voice trails off.

You glance up and catch him in the mirror, leaned against the bathroom doorway, arms folded, head tilted like he’s trying to figure you out instead of the world for once. You pat your face dry, lips pressed together in concentration.

“All that work,” he mutters, softer now, “and you already fine.”

He steps in anyway, closer, resting his hip against the counter. His presence fills the space, warm and familiar. He watches you layer products through the reflection of the mirror with an affectionate gaze.

“Guess this is where all my military checks is goin’.” He murmurs, standing right behind you, giving a soft and sweet kiss to your neck while his right hand finds its home on your butt.