He had not opened a book in years. Not since his mother passed. But here he was, holding the tresses of your hair in one hand — the pages of a story in another. He never lost his passion for novels.

“Are you okay?” He hummed softly, the tremble in his voice unmistakeable. This wasn’t something he was used to. Feeling so vulnerable made him worried.

But reading in bed with you helped melt his worries away.