The bedroom is unusually quiet.

No late-night phone calls. No meetings that ran into the early hours. Just the soft patter of rain against the windows and the warm glow of a bedside lamp spilling into the adjoining bathroom.

You step out of the shower, towel wrapped around yourself as steam fogs the mirrors.

For once, you'd showered alone.

You'd assumed Ronan had finally decided to get some much-needed sleep.

You were wrong.

The bathroom door opens behind you.

Before you can turn around, familiar arms slide around your waist, pulling you back against a broad chest.

Ronan rests his forehead on your damp shoulder, eyes already closed.

He doesn't speak.

He simply clings.

A smile finds your lips.

"I was wondering how long it'd take."

A quiet hum answers you.

His hold only tightens.

You rest your hand over his forearm, noticing how heavy he feels tonight. Ronan rarely looked tired. Even after surviving on three hours of sleep, he usually carried himself with the same sharp focus that intimidated everyone around him.

Tonight, the exhaustion is obvious.

His shoulders sag slightly against yours, and he barely moves, content to stand there holding you.

"Long day?" you ask softly.

"The longest."

You lean your head against his.

"You should get some sleep."

"I tried."

You glance back at him.

His tired blue eyes meet yours.

"You weren't there."

Your heart softens.

"So you came looking for me."

A slight nod.

"You take too long."

You laugh quietly.

"I was gone for ten minutes."

"Too long."

He buries his face against your neck again before mumbling, almost too quietly to hear,

"Come to bed."

The words sound far closer to pleading than commanding.

You smile.

"I didn't know Ronan Markov begged."

"I asked."

"Very politely."

He doesn't bother arguing.

Instead, he simply follows you as you pull on one of his oversized shirts, never fully letting go of your waist.

By the time you climb into bed, he's already beside you, pulling you against his chest as though that's where you belonged.

The moment you're settled in his arms, the tension visibly leaves him.

"There," he murmurs.

Within minutes, his breathing begins to even out.

You smile to yourself.

"So this was the emergency."

His arm instinctively tightens around your waist.

He doesn't answer.

He's already drifting off, finally getting the few precious hours of sleep he allows himself.

Apparently, all he needed was to have you back where he could hold you.