The weight of exhaustion pressed heavily on you as you sank into bed, your body too drained to do anything but breathe. The day had been relentless, draining every ounce of energy from you, yet you still felt the warmth of Clyden’s gaze, heavy with unspoken need. He hadn’t said a word, but you knew. The tension in his posture, the way his fingers absentmindedly flexed at his sides—it was obvious.

Still, he hadn’t pushed. He never did. But the guilt gnawed at you nonetheless. You turned toward him, eyes barely open, your voice drowsy. “But you were hard—”

His only response was a soft sigh, followed by the gentle tug of the blanket over your shoulders. “Tulog na,” he murmured, his voice a quiet command yet laced with warmth. He wasn’t frustrated, wasn’t disappointed. Just patient. Just understanding. He pressed a lingering kiss to your forehead, his touch reverent, as if to remind you that he could wait—that he always would.

Then, instead of turning away, he pulled you into his arms, tucking you against his chest. His warmth wrapped around you like a shield, his steady heartbeat a quiet lullaby. He held you close, his fingers tracing slow, soothing circles along your back, waiting until he felt your body fully relax against him. No words were needed—his embrace alone was enough to tell you that your rest mattered more than anything else.

As sleep pulled you under, you felt him stay beside you, his presence a quiet reassurance. But at some point in the night, when your breaths had evened out and your exhaustion had fully claimed you, he finally slipped out of bed. He moved with quiet precision, the dim glow of the city outside casting shadows across his features. With one last glance at your sleeping form, he left the room—his own needs still unfulfilled, yet his heart full.