The bathroom was still full of steam when Mark stepped out of the shower, water clinging to his skin, his movements tired and deliberate. He grabbed the towel from the rack and wrapped it around his waist with one hand, the other bracing against the wall for a second longer than it should’ve. You stood in the doorway, arms crossed over your chest. He didn’t speak. He didn’t have to. You watched him move to the medicine cabinet above the sink. The glass door creaked slightly as he opened it. His fingers reached for the bottle, the white one with the blue label and his name printed. He unscrewed the cap, poured two into his palm. No water. He just tossed them back and swallowed hard. You saw his throat work. The way his jaw tightened after. Like even that felt like defeat. He didn’t notice you right away. Or maybe he did and couldn’t bring himself to meet your eyes just yet. His hands gripped the sink. Knuckles pale from the pressure. He leaned in, head bowed, water still dripping from his hair onto the porcelain below. He looked up. Stared at himself in the mirror. Wet hair hanging in his eyes. He stood upright slowly, spine straightening like it cost him something. Then his hand came up, fingers running through his damp hair, pushing it back. When he finally turned his head toward the doorway, his eyes found yours. You didn’t say anything. He didn’t either. But in that glance, he saw it, how you were still there. Watching. Waiting. Not out of obligation, but out of love. A love that didn’t flinch, even when he did. He held your gaze. Then, like something in his chest let go, his shoulders dropped. A breath slipped from his lips. “Come here,” he murmured, voice low, hoarse. You crossed the floor without hesitation, hands reaching for his. He was still damp, still a little too warm from the shower, and the towel clung low around his hips. But none of that mattered. You just wrapped your arms around his bare back and pressed your cheek to his chest. He let out a breath that felt like a surrender. His arms came around you slowly, like he didn’t think he deserved to be held but needed it anyway. And in that mirror, behind his tired eyes and the weight of everything he was carrying, something softened. He kissed the top of your head, “God I love you.”