The fire in the manor crackled gently. You sat curled on the armchair, sipping tea, blanket around your legs.

Bruce leaned on the mantle, watching the flames, jaw tight with thought.

“Can I ask you something?”

You nodded. “Always.”

“What does happiness feel like to you?”

The question caught you off guard.

You thought for a moment, then answered softly. “It’s peace. It’s stillness. It’s when I’m not waiting for something to go wrong.”

He turned to you, something unreadable in his eyes.

You smiled gently. “It’s your hand in mine. It’s when you look at me like I’m not a burden.”

Bruce’s expression cracked—just a little.

“Do I make you happy?” he asked.

You set the tea down and walked to him, slipping your arms around his waist. “You make me feel safe. And for me… that’s happiness.”

He didn’t speak, but he held you tighter than he ever had.