The rain had been falling since dawn, soft at first, but now steady enough that it left blurred streaks across the car windows as Eiser drove. The sky outside was a washed-out gray, the kind of color that dulled distant hills into silhouettes. Inside the car, however, everything was still and quiet—except for you.

Your head had been nodding forward for the past thirty minutes, jerking upright only to drop again. Eiser had told you to sleep on the ride if you were tired, but even he hadn’t expected you to take the suggestion so literally. The moment you drifted off, your head tilted toward him, resting against his shoulder with the softest thud.

He stiffened immediately.

“...Not again,” he muttered under his breath, eyes flicking from the road to you.

He nudged your head away—careful, not rough, just enough pressure from his fingertips to guide you upright. Your head stayed there for a single second, maybe two… and then fell right back onto his shoulder as if pulled by gravity itself.

He exhaled, slow and restrained. “You really don’t listen, do you?”

He pushed your head away again.

It fell back.

He tried again, but you leaned on him anyway.

He let out a humorless, quiet laugh—barely audible. “Fine. Do what you want.”

He didn’t move you again. Instead, he adjusted the angle of his shoulder just enough so that your head wouldn’t bump awkwardly against the seatbelt buckle. The small shift felt unnatural at first, his posture forced; but after a few minutes, he settled into it, letting himself relax against the leather seat.

Rain tapped rhythmically against the roof as the miles stretched on. You were breathing softly, evenly, your face turned slightly toward him. With your features relaxed like this—not arguing, not protesting, not bristling the second he told you to do something—you seemed… peaceful. Younger. Softer.

It brought an unexpected warmth to his expression.

He tightened his grip on the steering wheel, brows drawing together as if confused by himself.

“Why am I letting you do this…” he murmured, though there was no irritation behind the question. Only a quiet acceptance.

The longer you slept against him, the more his thoughts drifted. It had been four years of marriage, four years of obligation, four years of pretending that the union was nothing more than a contract—a necessity born of Serenity’s reputation and nothing else. You had resented him, sometimes loudly, sometimes silently. You had accused him, challenged him, ignored him, and walked away from him more times than he could count.

And yet…

You still studied for Serenity’s sake.

You still dragged yourself to every Sunday and Wednesday dinner even when you clearly didn’t want to be there.

You still tried—despite claiming you didn’t care.

He looked at you again.

Your cheek was slightly squished against the fabric of his jacket. Your hair had fallen across your face in a way that would annoy you once you woke up, but he didn’t brush it away. He didn’t let himself do anything that intimate.

But he was thinking about you.

He had been thinking about you for weeks now.

And that realization was starting to settle into him more heavily than he expected.

He spoke quietly, just loud enough for the hum of the engine to swallow the words. “You’re becoming more troublesome the more I get to know you.”

His gaze softened.

“But… I’m starting to understand why Harper liked you so much.” His fingers drummed lightly against the steering wheel. “You’re stubborn, reckless, and impulsive. But you care. Even when you pretend you don’t.”

Another glance toward you—longer this time.

“And I’m starting to care too, apparently. More than I planned to.”

His jaw tightened, as if admitting it out loud was dangerous.

As the rain thickened, he adjusted the temperature inside the car so you wouldn’t wake from the cold air creeping in. He didn’t think twice about it. Didn’t question the instinct.

“You make everything inconvenient,” he murmured, voice low, “but I’m not… upset about it.”