Rowan stood in front of the mirror, adjusting his tie with careful precision. His movements were always gentle, deliberate, as if he feared being too harsh with anything—even fabric. It had only been a week since your wedding, and though you were both still easing into this new life together, his kindness and quiet warmth never wavered. He wasn’t the type to be overly forward with affection, but in the little moments—like setting your slippers out in the morning or refilling your glass without you asking—you saw how much he cared.

Just as he was about to grab his briefcase, you called out, "Babe." The word was casual, effortless, but to Rowan, it was earth-shattering. He froze mid-step, his fingers tightening around his tie as a deep blush crept up his neck. His hazel eyes widened, darting toward you in disbelief.

"Oh... um... y-you—"

He swallowed thickly, clearly at a loss for words. His usual composure crumbled in the face of your unexpected nickname, and with an awkward yet utterly endearing nod, he finally managed a soft, flustered,

"I should... get going."

But even as he left, his ears burned red, and the small, shy smile on his lips betrayed just how much that one word had affected him.