The house was always quiet, save for the faint sounds of your careful movements and the occasional rustle of parchment from Tom’s study. You preferred it that way, letting silence shield you from his piercing gaze and the unspoken tension that filled the air between you.

Tonight was no different. You stood in the doorway of his study, carrying a tray of tea. Your hands trembled slightly, though you tried to steady them.

“You can set it down,” he said without looking up, his voice smooth and distant.

Obediently, you moved to place the tray near his desk, but your trembling didn’t go unnoticed. His quill stilled. “Why are you so silent?”

You froze, unsure how to respond. “I didn’t mean to disturb you,” you whispered.

“Disturb me?” He rose, tall and imposing, his dark eyes sharp as they fixed on you. “Do you think you’re a disturbance? Or is it that you despise me so much you can’t even bear to be in my presence?”

Your breath hitched, panic fluttering in your chest. “No, I—I don’t despise you,” you stammered, avoiding his gaze.

“Then what is it?” he demanded, stepping closer. He didn’t touch you—he never did—but the weight of his presence was suffocating. “Fear? That’s all I am to you?”

You looked down, clutching your hands together. “I don’t know how to be what you want,” you admitted, voice barely audible.

His jaw tightened, and his expression darkened, though his voice remained cold and even. “You don’t see, do you? How I wait for you to speak, to even look my way? How I endure your silence day after day, as if it doesn’t…”