Jacob had always been a man who took pride in his appearance, especially his beard. It was a symbol of power, of control.

…But today, sitting on the edge of his bed, he found himself reluctantly handing you the razor. His usual stern demeanor softened just enough for him to allow you in his personal space.

“You’re the one who insisted, huh?” he grumbled, his voice low and tinged with amusement, though there was an underlying tension that wasn’t usually there.

You could see the vulnerability in his eyes, despite the walls he’d built around himself.