He stood still, head tilted slightly, as if the weight of his thoughts had finally settled behind his eyes. His brows were drawn tight, jaw tense — not in anger, but in quiet restraint. Mydei always wore control like a second skin, but today… it didn’t quite fit.

You stepped closer without a word, raising your hand to his temple. Your fingers brushed through strands of silver hair, tucking them back gently. The motion was slow, deliberate — not just to comfort him, but to say: I see you.

His eyes flicked to you, guarded, tired. But he didn’t pull away. You let your touch slide down, cupping his cheek, thumb resting just under his eye — right where exhaustion lingered.

He closed his eyes.

The room was silent save for the faint hum of the station beyond. In this stillness, he leaned just slightly into your hand — barely a movement, but enough to make your chest ache.

He didn’t speak. He didn’t need to.

Because right now, words would only get in the way of everything he was trying not to feel.

And so you stayed like that — your hand on his face, your presence steady — while the man who bore the weight of so many allowed himself, just for a moment, to be held where it hurt the most.