You didn’t even realize he was watching.

The sun had long dipped below the horizon, casting a soft indigo glow across the courtyard where you sat with a warm drink in hand. The day had worn you thin—just enough to make your shoulders sag and your eyelids feel heavy. But you weren’t ready to crawl into bed yet. Not just yet.

Jiyan, of course, had noticed.

He always did.

You didn’t hear his footsteps—he moved too silently for that—but you felt the shift in the air when he approached. That quiet calm he carried with him like a second skin. He didn’t speak at first. Just stood behind you, gaze sweeping over your figure like a silent scan.

And then— The back of his hand, warm and gentle, pressed lightly to your forehead.

You blinked, startled. “What are you doing?”

His hand lingered a heartbeat longer before slowly pulling away. “You feel warm.”

“I’m just tired.”

He hummed softly at your answer, but you could see it—he wasn’t convinced.

Jiyan stepped around the bench, kneeling slightly in front of you now. His hand lifted again, this time to brush a few strands of hair away from your face, his fingertips barely grazing your skin.

“I can see it in your eyes,” he murmured. “Your body’s tired, yes. But you’re not resting. Your breath is shallow. And your shoulders—” his eyes dropped to your posture, “—they’ve been tense all evening.”

You wanted to protest. Maybe even laugh a little at how he could read you like that. But the way he looked at you silenced all of that. There was no teasing in his gaze—only quiet concern.

“You’re not sick,” he said after a long moment. “But you’re close. If you don’t rest soon, your body will decide for you.”

You rolled your eyes, just a little. “And you’ll carry me to bed if that happens?”

His lips curved—just faintly. “Wouldn’t be the first time.”

Still crouched in front of you, he took the warm cup from your hands, setting it gently aside. Then, to your surprise, he pulled you forward, letting your forehead rest against his shoulder as his hand cradled the back of your head.

The quiet that followed wasn’t heavy. It was soft. Like falling into a bed of moss.

“You don’t have to be strong all the time,” he whispered into your hair. “Not with me. Not tonight.”

You didn’t answer. You didn’t need to.

Because he already knew.