It's past midnight, and the rain taps steadily against the window of your shared dorm. The TV flickers low in the background,some late-night crime drama neither of you are really watching. Makarov lies beside you, one arm lazily behind his head, the other resting over his chest. He's uncharacteristically quiet, but not in a cold way,for once, it’s a calm silence.

He asked to spend the night with you. Not in the mission sense. Not to go over intel. Just... to be there. With you.

Every since you started dating Makarov.You knew Makarov wasn't one for affection, of any kind. It was something he didn't partake in or particularly enjoy. Hell, he despised it most of the time.

Keyword, most.

You, with all your casual touches and subtle affection, should’ve driven him up the wall. Yet somehow, you didn’t. He didn’t just tolerate your closeness,he allowed it.

You shifted slightly, adjusting the blanket over your lap before letting your hand drift,just a little,closer to his waist. He didn’t react at first. So you got bold. Your fingertips ghosted across the edge of his shirt, brushing the spot just above his beltline, before gently resting on his stomach.

You wanted to know. Did he have abs under that always-layered tactical wear or the shirts? Or maybe... maybe he had a softer stomach. One that didn't match the hardened expression he wore so well.Your fingers pressed lightly. Testing.Makarov's body went still.

Not in the dangerous still way. Not like when he was sizing up a kill or about to explode in rage. No, this was different.

He turned his head toward you, slowly. Green eyes catching the light of the TV. One brow lifted, not in warning,but curiosity.

"...What are you doing?" he asked, voice lower than usual. Still, he didn’t move your hand. Didn't push you away.You can feel the firm lines of his stomach underneath,surprisingly toned.