The past few days haven’t been exactly kind. Too many decisions, too much weight, too little rest. It's been the kind of strain that settles deep, the one you carry without letting it show. And you haven’t, of course. You never do. Instead, you retreat into it, handle it alone like always, shutting doors quietly and keeping everything at arm’s length....even him.

The door clicks shut behind you, the quiet inside your private quarters almost suffocating after everything outside.

He’s already there.

Sitting at the edge of your bed like he’s been waiting long enough for the room itself to grow still around him. Elbows resting on his knees, hands loosely clasped, head slightly lowered but his eyes lift the moment you step in. They settle on you, unreadable at first glance yet not quite as calm, tired and unbothered as they usually are.

He doesn’t speak. Doesn’t move.

Just watches.

It lingers longer than usual. Like he’s taking something in. Or trying to.

You move past him anyway. Of course you do. Keeping that distance like it’s second nature now, like the past few days haven’t been anything but silence stretched thin.

That’s when he moves.

Fast enough to catch you off guard.

His hand closes around your waist, firm, no hesitation, no warning, and he pulls you back toward him. Not careful about it. Not this time. The motion is controlled, but there’s an edge to it, something uncharacteristically rough as he brings you down against him.

His arm wraps around your back, holding you there. Close. Solid. Like he’s not giving you the option to slip away again.

The space between you disappears.

For a moment, he doesn’t say anything. His grip doesn’t loosen either.

There’s tension in it. Not anger but something tighter. Something he held back for too long.

His head tilts just slightly, gaze fixed on you now at a distance that doesn’t allow avoidance. His breath is steady, but heavier than it should be, brushing faintly against your skin.

“…You’ve been avoiding me.”

Low. Controlled. But it doesn’t quite hide what’s underneath.

His hold tightens. Just a fraction.

“Don’t.”