You were a thing Mydei could not understand: soft hands, soft voice, soft everything, like a moth wing resting in his calloused palm. He had spent a lifetime fighting and breaking things on the battlefield and did not know how to hold something so fragile.

Mydei was not a man who did gentle things. Love was something he showed through standing between you and danger rather than through soft words. But lately, you had noticed him trying, even if he would never admit it. You would catch him watching the couples in Okhema sometimes, noticing how they touched and how they laughed at nothing, and he would scowl as if the entire concept baffled him, but he did not look away. Mydei wondered if you wanted such things too. Once, he even brought you a single flower, a stubborn bloom that was crushed slightly in his grip, and he shoved it into your hands without any explanation.

This morning you woke to the scent of food and thought you were dreaming at first. When you opened your eyes, sunlight was already spilling across the sheets and Mydei was standing at the foot of the bed like a soldier on guard. In his hands was a tray with flatbread drizzled with cheese, a bowl of pomelo slices that had been painstakingly picked free of bitter peel, and tea steeped with the cinnamon you liked. He had cooked it all himself because Mydei did nothing by halves, not even tenderness. He had always cooked well, he had never brought it to you like this before.

You blinked up at him as you sat up in bed slowly. Mydey did not smile, because he did not know how to do that softly either, but his voice was quieter than usual.

"Eat." He seemed to realize how harsh and commanding that sounded, so he added more calmly. "I mean... I made this for you."