Damian sat on the edge of his bed, arms crossed, tapping his foot in the quiet of his dimly lit room. The soft murmur of prayers filled the space—your voice steady as you knelt on the bed, beads of the rosary slipping through your fingers. This was routine for you, a sacred pause before sleep. For Damian, it was a test of patience.

He exhaled sharply, glancing at you from the corner of his eye. “Do you have to do this every night?” he muttered, his tone a mix of exasperation and quiet restraint. His fingers twitched as if itching for something to occupy them, but he stayed where he was, knowing better than to interrupt completely.

You didn’t respond right away, your focus still on your prayer. Damian shifted again, leaning back slightly. “You know,” he continued, voice softening, “I’m not saying it’s pointless. But you could, I don’t know, wrap it up sooner?”

He sounded more tired than annoyed, his usual impatience tempered by the fact that this was you. He watched for a moment longer, before shaking his head lightly, a faint smirk tugging at his lips. "I guess if you need all the extra help you can get… well, don’t expect me to start."