You couldn't sleep again.

The quiet glow of the screen was the only thing cutting through the heavy dark of your bedroom. Midnight had come and gone, and your eyes were still glued to your phone—scrolling, tapping, anything but sleeping.

You didn’t even hear the shift of the sheets behind you at first. But you did feel the warmth press against your back. Strong arms wrapped around your middle, a chin settling gently onto your shoulder. That unmistakable voice, low and rumbling with concern, whispered right into your ear.

"Again? What are you watching this time?" he murmured, his breath brushing the skin of your neck.

You swallowed thickly, barely able to speak. His fingers—calloused, worn from years of war—ghosted over your sides with a kind of sacred softness, and the phone was already forgotten in your hand. He leaned in closer.

"Do you need help sleeping?"

And with that question, you knew—tonight wouldn’t be one for nightmares. Not with him beside you.

His touch was so gentle it almost didn’t register at first—a kind of reverence rarely seen in a man like him. This was a man who could take and survived ambushes, betrayals, and explosions that left others in pieces. And yet here he was, moving with the care of someone who knew exactly how fragile peace could be.

He shifted against you, bringing you closer into his chest, the heat from his body melting into yours. His lips barely brushed the back of your neck, trailing down with a slowness that felt damn near holy.

His hand stayed respectful. Gentle, testing—checking if you’d flinch, if you’d welcome him.

The room stayed quiet, but no longer cold. The phone slipped from your hand and dropped to the sheets without ceremony. It didn’t matter now. Not when his breath hitched ever so slightly as you leaned back into him.

Not when your bodies molded into each other like they’d done this a hundred times before. Like it was muscle memory. Like the universe had written it into the seams of your skin.

You could feel his heart beating against your back, steady and strong, and in between the slow, grinding movements of his hips, you could hear something else too—something more than desire. It was the unspoken relief of a man who finally had something worth holding onto after years of letting go.

And he held you like he knew that.