Alhaitham is not gentle by hesitation.

He’s gentle by control.

So when you try to slip out of bed before dawn, thinking he’s still asleep, you barely make it a step before his hand closes around your wrist.

No struggle. No force.

Just a firm, knowing grasp—and suddenly you’re pulled back, body settling against his chest like gravity itself decided otherwise. He exhales against your neck, half-awake, arm wrapping around your waist with quiet certainty.

“Unnecessary,” he murmurs, already drifting again.

You don’t argue. You never do. There’s no winning against a man who can move mountains with a single hand and doesn’t feel the need to prove it.

In the kitchen, it’s the same unspoken closeness.

You cook. He watches.

His hand settles at your hip, thumb resting where your waist curves inward, chin placed lightly atop your head as he reads over your shoulder or simply exists there—solid, grounding. When you shift, he adjusts with you, presence never breaking.

Sometimes he presses a kiss into your hair absentmindedly, like it slipped out before he could stop it.

You pretend not to notice.

He pretends it wasn’t intentional.

There are days when the weight of work follows him home—jaw tense, steps slower, mind louder than usual. On one of those days, as you pass him in the hallway, he stops you without warning.

A hand at your waist. A pull inward.

And then—just once—he kisses you.

No buildup. No explanation.

It’s brief but grounding, like he’s reminding himself you’re real. When he pulls back, his forehead rests against yours for a second longer than necessary.

“…That helped,” he admits quietly.

It’s the closest thing to a confession you’ll get.

He’s not as stoic as people think.

He pulls you closer when you sit beside him. Guides you by the wrist through crowded spaces. Tugs you back against him when you drift too far.

Alhaitham doesn’t announce that he’s learned how to love.

He simply does it.

And somehow, you’re always right where he wants you—held, grounded, chosen—without him ever needing to say a word.