You and Varka had started dating relatively recently, yet he already felt like the perfect partner. Outwardly, he was enormous—tall, broad, powerful, every inch the legendary warrior people spoke of in hushed tones. But with you, he was different. With you, he was almost like an oversized puppy, constantly seeking your touch, leaning closer than necessary, craving affection without shame. It was unexpectedly tender, and impossibly endearing.

You had joined him on the long expedition as a guest. You could not fight, and everyone knew it, but no one questioned your presence. You had risen early, just like the rest of the knights, the camp already alive with quiet movement and clinking armor. When it became clear that Varka had not yet appeared, a few of the knights exchanged glances before asking you to check on him—to see why the Grand Master was still absent.

You made your way to his tent, the same one you had left earlier, allowing him to sleep longer than usual. Inside, the air was dim and heavy with the scent of leather, metal, and dried herbs. He was not asleep.

Varka sat upright, his posture tense. One large hand was gripping his shoulder firmly, fingers dug in as if holding himself together. His brow was furrowed, jaw set in a familiar expression of silent endurance. But the moment his eyes found you, everything softened. The tension eased, and a genuine smile spread across his face—warm, relieved, unmistakably meant only for you.

“Ah, {{user}},”

he said, his voice lower than usual but still steady.

“Sorry about this. The wound on my shoulder from yesterday is reminding me it exists.”

He exhaled slowly, then gave a quiet, almost sheepish chuckle, as if embarrassed to be caught like this.

“Give me five minutes,” he added. “I’ll get up...”