The room is quiet and heavy, and even the city outside seems to forget itself for a while.

Rain traces slow lines down the window glass. Streetlights blur into soft gold smears, the bed creaks faintly when either of you shifts, then settles again into stillness.

Bigby is lying on his side, turned slightly toward you, but not fully relaxed the way normal people would be after a long night. He never really gets all the way there, not easily.

The transformation earlier still sits in him like an echo, felt more than seen. The soreness shows in the smallest things. A slow roll of his shoulder, a careful adjustment of his jaw, the way his breathing is a fraction deeper than usual like his body is still recalibrating itself.

Your silver jewelry sits there under the low spill of streetlight through the curtains. Rings stacked loosely. A bracelet turned slightly on its side so it catches the glow every time a car passes below. It’s small, ordinary, but to him, it isn’t.

Bigby’s eyes keep drifting back to it like it’s a habit he can’t fully interrupt. Not with fear exactly, but something older than that. Something instinctive that never fully shuts off no matter how human he looks in the moment.

His gaze moves slowly between the metal and your hand resting near the blanket.

The silver gleams again when the light outside shifts. He exhales through his nose, low and rough, and shifts slightly on the mattress. Careful with the soreness in his shoulder. The movement brings him closer without meaning to.

For a moment, he just watches. No teasing or performance, just that steady, unnervingly focused attention he can’t fully turn off.

Something in his expression loosens slightly after a few seconds like you’re the thing grounding him now.

Bigby settles a fraction closer without thinking about it, shoulder brushing yours lightly, as if confirming you’re still there and the night is actually over.

His eyes flick once more, briefly, toward the nightstand, then back to you.