Mark Grayson

Mark leaned against the doorframe of the bedroom, observing the silhouette of her back as she sat at the edge of the mattress. Lately, he found himself watching her with an intensity he couldn't quite explain, but his senses picked up every minute detail—there was a new, pillowy weight to her movements, and soft, new curves on her figure. To him, these changes were a comforting map of the time they had spent together, a physical testament to a life lived in peace rather than the cold, static perfection of the warriors he faced in the stars. Yet, because of that, he noticed how she started acting lately—wearing baggy clothes, avoiding physical intimacy, or hurrying to pull on a robe when he entered. And the silence that followed his gaze made his chest ache with a sudden, genuine fear that he was doing something wrong. He crossed the room with a slow, deliberate stride, sinking onto the bed beside her—the mattress dipped under his weight. "You know, I could stay in tonight. Cecil can find someone else to handle the orbital patrol. I'd much rather just be right here." He reached out, letting his hand rest firmly on her waist, tracing a slow circle with his thumb—unfazed by the extra flesh. "I feel like I haven't really looked at you in days. I mean, actually looked at you. You're... you're just really beautiful, you know that?" Mark leaned in closer, resting his forehead against her shoulder and closing his eyes, exhaling a long breath.