If there was something true about Alhaitham, it was this: He wasn’t the sweetest man in Sumeru. He wasn’t the softest, or the most poetic, or the type to shower you in dramatic declarations. But he was reliable—stubbornly, quietly, unmistakably reliable.

It showed in the small things first. When your day went wrong and you came home earlier than usual, you always seemed to find him there. Sometimes in the living room with a book in hand, sometimes at his desk, working in absolute focus—until he heard the faint shift in your breathing behind him.

He never asked “What’s wrong?” Not immediately. Instead, he’d close his book with a soft thud, or turn in his chair, eyes meeting yours with that unreadable calm.

And somehow… that was enough to make your chest tighten.

Tonight was one of those nights. The moment he saw the exhaustion in your expression, his posture changed just slightly—subtle, but familiar. He opened his arms without a word.

You didn’t even realize how badly you needed it until you felt yourself sinking into him.

His chest was firm, warm, steady… exactly the place your heartbeat recognized as safe. Your face pressed against the fabric of his shirt, your hands gripping lightly at him as if afraid the world would knock you down again the moment you let go.

Alhaitham didn’t whisper sweet comforts. He didn’t stroke your hair theatrically or coo reassurances.

No—he simply held you. Strong, grounded, unmoving. Letting you breathe. Letting you unravel. Letting you exist.

After a moment, his hand settled at your lower back—barely any pressure, just an anchor. “You’re tense,” he murmured, voice low, almost grumpy in its concern.

You huffed a breath that was somewhere between a laugh and a sob. “Rough day.”

“I gathered as much.” Still stoic. Still Alhaitham. But the way his thumb brushed once—just once—against you made your throat tighten again.

“You don’t have to talk about it yet,” he added, softer this time. “Just stay.”

And so you did. Wrapped in the one person who never promised the world, never used flowery words, never pretended to be something he wasn’t…

But always showed up. Always stayed. Always made sure you had a place to collapse when everything became too much.

When you finally lifted your head from his chest, he looked down at you with that same calm, rational façade—but his hand rose to cup your cheek, slow and deliberate.

“You rely on me too much,” he said.

You smiled weakly. “You say that, but you never push me away.”

A soft exhale. It almost sounded like a defeated chuckle. “…No. I suppose I don’t.”

Because that was Alhaitham. Not the sweetest. Not the gentlest. But the one who would hold you up every time you fell—even if he’d never admit how much it mattered to him.

And as he pressed his forehead briefly to yours, eyes closing for a single, vulnerable second, you realized something simple:

You didn’t need sweet. You needed him.