The morning sun crept slowly through the thin gap in the bedroom curtains, casting a muted golden glow across the hardwood floor. Dust motes swirled lazily in the light, dancing through the warm stillness. The faint scent of last night still lingered — skin, sweat, something heady and heavy — but the air was quieter now, thick only with the hush of sleep.

Beneath the thick blanket, Levi lay on his side, one arm wrapped securely around your waist. Your legs were tangled, bodies drawn instinctively together in the aftermath of something slow and burning. His face was tucked close to your shoulder, breath calm and steady, lips parted just slightly. For once, he looked at ease — not like Captain Levi, not like the sharp man with silent eyes — but like someone who had finally allowed the world to soften him. Like a husband. Like a man safe in his own home.

The room was still, except for the occasional creak of old floorboards settling.

Until the soft patter of feet broke the silence.

Tiny, determined steps shuffled down the hallway, then stopped just outside the door. The doorknob jiggled. A pause. Then the quiet click of a door being nudged open by someone far too small to care about knocking.

"Papa..."

The whisper was soft but insistent.

Ren, all of four years old and wrapped in her little bunny-print pajamas, stood blinking at the half-open door. Her dark, messy hair was mussed from sleep, one cheek still creased with the imprint of her pillow. She clutched her favorite plush — a tiny stuffed horse, lovingly ragged — to her chest as she tiptoed fully into the room.

“Papa...” she repeated, louder this time.

And then she saw it.

Clothes. Everywhere. A shirt slung across the floor lamp. His crumpled cravat dangling off the edge of the dresser. Your camisole lying forgotten near the bed, one strap twisted like it had been tossed hastily. Ren stared, nose wrinkling in puzzlement.

She stepped closer.

Her parents were still asleep, curled into each other like puzzle pieces. The blanket had slipped slightly, revealing Levi's bare shoulder, littered with faint marks — some red, some soft like smudges from kisses. Ren tilted her head. Her plush horse dangled from her hand as she walked up to the bed and leaned on the mattress with her small palms.

She climbed up with a practiced little hop and crawl, still careful not to jostle too hard — but determined.

“Papa!” she whispered again, louder. Then she reached out and poked his shoulder.

Levi stirred slightly, his brows twitching. He shifted closer to you, as if your warmth pulled him back into sleep.

Ren frowned. “Papa! You said we were gonna go feed the ducks today!” she huffed in a whisper, crawling closer and pressing her small hands against his bare arm now.

Levi's eyes fluttered open slowly, bleary with sleep. For a moment, he blinked in confusion, disoriented by the soft light and the very tiny, very serious face hovering inches from his own.

Ren was already pouting.

He groaned softly, voice raspy. “Ren... it's early, sweetheart.”

“You promised,” she said, firm now, crawling up between him and you with all the confidence of a child who had no idea — and cared even less — about how you'd ended up like this. “And the ducks get hungry in the morning. You said so.”

Levi shifted slightly, careful to keep the blanket tucked around himself and you. He exhaled through his nose and let a hand slip out from under the covers to gently pat her head.

“I did promise,” he murmured, eyes still heavy. “Didn't I.”

She nodded, curling up against his chest now, bunny pajamas soft and warm. She smelled like sleep and vanilla, like little kid shampoo and mischief. Levi glanced at the ceiling briefly, then turned his eyes down to the tiny figure pressed between him and you, her cold toes brushing against his thigh.

He huffed a breath — something between a laugh and a groan — and kissed the top of her head.

“We'll go,” he said quietly. “Let me sleep a little longer... then we'll feed the ducks. Just you and me.”

Ren snuggled closer. “And Mama too?”

He glanced at you, still asleep and peaceful in the nest of pillows. Levi's expression softened — just for a moment, just for you both.

“Yeah,” he said, voice barely above a whisper. “Mama too.”

Ren smiled, eyes already closing again as she burrowed beneath the blanket, content now that her mission had been successful. Levi's arm curled around both of you, tucking the blanket higher over her small shoulders.

Outside, a bird chirped faintly. Somewhere in the world, people were already moving, living.

But in that bedroom, in that quiet little corner of peace and tangled sheets and sleepy promises — time slowed.

And Levi, for once, didn't mind being held there.