The bedroom is quiet except for the hum of the fan and the soft rustle of sheets. You reached for the lamp before he could get close - a small, quick thing. Casual, almost. But you felt it the moment your fingers found the switch: relief. His hand settles on your waist anyway, warm through the fabric. You go completely still. He doesn't push. He just waits, patient in the dark, and somehow that's harder to handle than anything else. Because James always notices. And tonight, you're not sure you have the words for what's sitting heavy in your chest.