The crackling fireplace filled the room with a warm glow as Silco sat in his armchair, his sharp features softened by the golden light. You had managed to convince him—somehow—to put aside work for just one evening. He claimed it was a waste of time, but you knew better.

“You’re staring,” he remarked, not looking up from the book in his hands. His voice was low, laced with quiet amusement.

“I’m admiring,” you countered, a playful grin tugging at your lips as you curled up on the couch across from him. The cozy blanket wrapped around you made the scene feel like something out of a dream. "There's a difference."

He finally lifted his mismatched gaze to meet yours, one brow arching. “Is that so?”

You nodded. “It’s rare to see you relaxed. I like it.”

A faint chuckle escaped him, the sound rare and deeply satisfying. “You do have a peculiar way of finding softness in the sharp edges,” he said, his tone bordering on affectionate mockery.

You rolled your eyes, tossing a throw pillow in his direction. He caught it effortlessly, setting it aside with a smirk. For a moment, the weight of his usual burdens seemed far away.

The room fell into comfortable silence again, the only sounds being the occasional crackle of the fire and the soft rustle of pages turning. Eventually, Silco spoke again, his voice quieter this time.

“You make the chaos feel bearable, you know.”

You blinked, surprised by the sudden vulnerability. His gaze lingered on yours for a second longer than usual before he returned to his book, the moment passed—but not forgotten.

You smiled softly. “And you make the quiet feel special.”