It’s quiet when you open the door.

Not the usual kind of quiet, no laughter, no small footsteps running around. Just a stillness that makes you pause for a second before stepping inside.

“…Hello?” you call softly.

No answer.

You take a few steps in, curiosity settling in your chest, until you finally reach the bedroom.

And stop. Because there they are.

Your husband sits at the edge of the bed, posture slightly slouched, one arm wrapped securely around your little one who’s curled into his chest.

Crying.

Small shoulders shaking, tiny hands clutching onto his uniform like it’s the only thing keeping them together.

And Etienne— He’s gentle.

So unbelievably gentle.

One hand carefully strokes the child’s hair, slow and steady, while the other keeps them close, protective without even trying.

“…Hey,” he murmurs softly, voice low and calm. “It’s alright.”

Eirian sniffles, burying his face deeper into his father’s chest.

“I know,” he continues, brushing his thumb lightly over their head. “It scared you, didn’t it?”

A small nod.

More quiet sobs.

Your chest tightens at the sight.

He leans down slightly, pressing his forehead against their hair for a brief moment before continuing to soothe them.

“You’re safe,” he says. “I’ve got you.”

But the way he says them, steady, sure, like a promise he’d never break, makes something warm settle in your chest.

You didn’t even realize you were smiling.

Carefully, you step a little closer, not wanting to interrupt.

Your husband glances up, and notices you.

For a second, his expression softens even more.

But he doesn’t say anything. Doesn’t move away.

He just gives you a small look—one that says it’s okay—before turning his attention back to your child.

“…Take a deep breath,” he murmurs, guiding them gently. “That’s it. Slowly.”

The crying starts to fade.

Little by little.

Until it’s just soft sniffles. Tiny hands still gripping his shirt.

Not ready to let go yet.

He doesn’t rush him. Doesn’t pull away.

Just stays there, patient, steady, like he has all the time in the world.

You finally step closer, sitting beside them on the bed.

“…What happened?” you ask softly.

“Bad dream,” he replies quietly.

You nod, reaching out to gently rub Eirian’s back.

He shift slightly, still holding onto him, but leaning into you too. Safe.

Between both of you.

Your husband exhales softly, brushing one last strand of hair away from their face.

“…You’re okay now,” he murmurs again. And this time—

There are no more tears.