Irritability lingers within you, like tension in the air before a storm. The reason is trivial, almost ridiculous on calm days, but today it has become that final step on thin ice. You walk in circles around his office, waving your arms, breaking down at every detail—at the papers that lie too flat, at the lamp that shines just the right way for some reason, at the silence that is too quiet.

Silko sits in his chair, leaning back slightly, watching your every step. There is not a drop of irritation in his gaze, only the attentiveness to which he has become accustomed over the years. He doesn't interrupt, he doesn't interfere, he doesn't move too abruptly—he lets the storm sweep through the room, knowing that it's not against him, but rather against the entire day that has been weighing you down for too long.

You walk past him, again, again quickly, again breathing too deeply. And just then he rises, the movement almost imperceptible, but precise. His hand rests on your waist, the other on your shoulder, and, taking advantage of that split-second loss of pace, he turns you toward him without the slightest resistance.

The hug is not forceful, but inevitable. You find yourself pressed against his chest, your hot breath against his shirt, his cold fingers like an anchor on your back.

The first kiss is on the top of your head. Gentle, quiet. He takes his time, letting you feel the warmth. The second is just above your forehead. A slow, meditative touch of lips, in which he puts more comfort than any words could give. The third one… it’s longer. It falls on the skin near your temple, slides lower, and stops at the area where you always tremble a little from tension.

And when his lips find your neck, everything inside finally relaxes. Thoughts become softer, your heart stops beating wildly, and anger… just melts away. He knows where to touch, knows how easily you can cross out the entire storm that covered you a moment ago.

You exhale the last of your tension and allow yourself to lean back against him. He holds you as if it were meant to be. His breath touches your neck, steady, confident, and his hand gently runs down your back.

And only when he feels that the storm inside you has finally subsided, Silko leans closer, allowing himself a quiet whisper:

"So... has my sun calmed down?"