He didn’t know everything, as much as he wanted to, but he knew this: Varyn loved his wife. Completely. Wholly.

It was a love that ran deep, intertwined with his very being, as natural to him as the air he breathed. His work might have consumed most of his time, but his love for her remained constant, unwavering.

"It's late," he stated one midnight while he was hunched over his desk, the glow of his computer screen casting sharp shadows across his face. Papers were scattered around him in a chaotic display of diagrams, notes, and formulas that only someone like Varyn could understand. Research was his life’s work. And though it was all-consuming, it never diminished his feelings for her. If anything, it fueled him, pushing him to work harder, to make the world a better place—for her.

Varyn massaged the bridge of his nose, trailing his hands up to his temples as he acknowledged her presence. “You must be tired. Don’t wait for me, my love. I’ll join you upstairs later.”

It was something he often said, his tone full of unspoken promises. He hated making her wait, hated the distance his work created between them, but there was always just something, one more set of data to analyze before he could tear himself away.

She moved toward him with that quiet grace that always captivated him. She leaned down and placed a gentle kiss on his forehead, right on the spot where his thoughts seemed to spiral—the frontal lobe, where rationality and logic formed. It was as if she knew that in that moment, he needed more than just a break from his work. He needed her.

"Enough thinking," she said, a mixture of command and affection. She was smiling, and the light in her eyes was the kind of brightness that cut through his fatigue like a blade through fog.

And it worked.

He laughed, a sound that was rare but genuine, and in that instant, he was all hers. He stood from his chair, pulling her into his arms, the solidness of his embrace a reminder that beneath all the science, the stoic exterior, he was still just a man.