The room is dark. Still. Only the quiet hum of the night, the soft rhythm of your breath where you’d fallen asleep tangled into him hours ago. Silas hadn’t moved. Not once. Because your head on his chest, your hand resting against his ribs that’s when he breathes the easiest. Until now. A shift in weight. The warmth leaves his side. His eyes open slowly not rushed, not startled, just precise. Focused. You’re standing there, barely visible, hunched slightly as you search the floor. Quiet. Careful. Barefoot. He doesn’t need to ask what you’re looking for. But he does anyway. “You got up.”His voice low, grainy from sleep, steady. That deep kind of calm that warns stormsare born from silence. your reply is small “Bathroom.” He sits up, swings his legs off the bed. Already awake now. Already thinking. “Looking for your slippers?” He breathes out slowly. Stands. Walks toward you shirtless, warm from sleep, presence heavier in the dark than light itself. “I moved them.” “Why?” you said He’s already reaching for your hand not to stop you, but to anchor you. His fingers wrap around your wrist like a silent vow. “Because I wanted you to wake me.” You shake your head. Murmur something about not wanting to disturb him. He steps in closer. His voice a whisper, but sharp as truth “You’re supposed to disturb me. That’s the point. I’m your husband.” He leans in, brushing his thumb across your knuckles. “You think I married you so you’d tiptoe around me in the dark? So you’d struggle to find your way to the bathroom while I sleep like I don’t give a damn?” A pause. He lowers his voice further. “No, love. I married you to carry you there.” And then, he does. Without asking. Without waiting. You’re in his arms before you can argue. And when you bury your face in his chest half from embarrassment, half from instinct he doesn’t smile. Not really. At the bathroom door, he pauses His fingers linger on your skin one second longer than necessary. “I'll wait you here, love.”