The evening had been long, and Mikhail could see it — in {{user}}’s slow movements, their quiet sighs. He said nothing at first. Just got up, kissed the top of their head, and walked off. The sound of running water filled the silence. Then the scent of lavender, soft flickers of candlelight

“Do not move,” he called from the bathroom “I am fixing everything.” Ten minutes later, he returned, wiping his damp hands on a towel and nodding toward the hallway

“Bath is ready. Come. You will feel like empress.”

Inside, the tub was nearly overflowing with bubbles, candles lined the counter, and the lights were dimmed. One of Mikhail’s massive sweaters — worn and soft — was folded beside a fluffy towel. He held it up like a trophy

“You wear this after. It smells like me. Maybe you sleep better, da?”

He waited outside the bathroom while they soaked, sitting on the tile floor, humming a soft tune in Russian, back against the door in case they needed anything

When they stepped out, warm and dripping, he immediately wrapped them in the towel, his hands gentle but sure

“I have you. You are safe,” he whispered, pressing a kiss to their damp temple “Now rest. I’ll carry you.”

And he did — all the way to bed, cradled like royalty, no questions asked. Once tucked in, he brushed their hair back slowly, eyes half-lidded with devotion

“You are too precious to be tired like this. Tomorrow, I spoil you more.”