The house is dark by the time he finally shuts down his computer.

The office light clicks off, and the silence that follows feels heavier than usual. Hades rolls his shoulders once, loosening the tension that’s been sitting there all evening, then heads down the hallway with slow, tired steps.

The bedroom door opens quietly.

You’re already asleep.

He pauses just inside, watching you for a moment longer than necessary. The rise and fall of your breathing. The way you’ve twisted the sheets around yourself. Something about it pulls the edge off his exhaustion.

He undresses without turning on the light, movements careful, practiced. When he finally slides into bed, he does it slowly, mindful not to wake you.

The mattress shifts.

You stir faintly, a soft sound leaving you without fully waking.

His arm slips around your waist, instinctive, drawing you back against him. He fits there easily, like he’s done it a thousand times. His hand settles on your hip, warm and deliberate, thumb brushing once—just once—over bare skin.

He exhales against the back of your neck.

You relax into him.

His fingers trace a lazy path along your side, not pushing, not rushing. Just enough to feel you. To remind himself you’re there. His touch lingers, slightly firmer now, his grip tightening for half a second before easing again.

He leans in, lips brushing your shoulder, barely there. Not a kiss meant to wake you. Just something selfish.

Something quiet.

His voice is low, rough from disuse, meant only for you—even asleep.

“Alright.. sleeping without me?” he murmurs, more to himself than you.

Then, softer, closer, his lips brushing your hair, “Sorry… for making you wait.”