Night fell over Ketil’s farm without ceremony. There were no fine candles or proper beds, only the dry smell of hay and the faint warmth trapped inside the abandoned stable. That was where they slept. Where they rested as much as they could after days that began before sunrise and ended when their bodies could no longer keep going.

Einar was not there that night. He had gone to help with another task, something that stretched the work even longer. That left the space in silence, something rare.

Thorfinn was not used to silence.

Before, it would have filled with memories. Now… it did not.

He was beside {{user}}, closer than any unspoken rule would allow between slaves. Not because rules did not exist, but because no one cared enough to enforce them there. No one watched the stable. No one cared what they did, as long as they worked the next day.

Even so, there was care.

Not for Ketil.

For her.

Closeness was not something Thorfinn understood well. It never had been. His past had left no room for it. But with {{user}}, it was different. There was no urgency, no need to take or claim. Only a strange, fragile calm, as if the moment might break if he did something wrong.

His hands, rough from labor, moved more carefully than they did even with tools, as if she were easier to damage than anything else in that land.

Afterward, he did not move away immediately.

The air felt colder without movement, but he stayed, awkwardly adjusting the hay, making sure there was nothing that might hurt her. There were not enough blankets, so he simply remained there, sharing what little warmth they could keep.

That was the closest thing to care he knew.

Not words.

Actions.

His gaze rested on the wooden ceiling for a moment, listening to the distant wind and the quiet movement of the animals. Everything outside remained the same. Nothing had changed.

And yet… something had changed for him.

He turned his head slightly toward {{user}}.

“You don’t have to do things for me.”

His voice was low, almost uneasy, as if he was not used to saying something like that.

He paused.

“…But I don’t mind it.”

It was not a clear confession. He did not know how to make one.

But it was the closest he could get.

Thorfinn shifted a little closer, not intruding, just enough to be there. Present. As if that alone was enough.

For someone like him, maybe it was.

The silence returned, but it was no longer empty.

After a moment, he spoke again, even quieter.

“Are you… alright?”