Time passed without either of them truly realizing when, exactly, the silence ceased to be merely an interval between words and became... presence. It wasn’t empty, nor awkward, nor burdened with urgent expectations—it was simply comfortable, as if that shared space between them had found its own equilibrium, something rare considering who they were and the kind of world they lived in. The steam continued to rise in gentle waves, the sound of the water filling the spaces between breaths, while the constant warmth dissolved any remaining tension that might still exist.

Agnes was no longer rigid.

Her body had completely adjusted to the water, the temperature, the proximity. The towel was still there, but no longer held tightly, simply resting, like a secondary detail in a moment that had ceased to be about defense or embarrassment. Her shoulders were relaxed, her breathing slower, and her gaze... less reactive.

More... present.

For a while, she just stood there, silent, watching the gentle movement of the water, feeling his presence beside her without needing to react every second. It was strange. Strange in a good way. There was no pressure. No urgency. Just... companionship.

And then, almost without realizing it, she moved.

Slowly.

Without making a grand gesture.

She simply tilted her body slightly to the side until her head rested on Strax’s shoulder, with enough naturalness that it seemed like something that could always have happened, even if, for her, it was still a small step outside her own comfort zone.

She stayed there.

Without saying anything immediately.

Just feeling.

The warmth of the water.

His stability.

The contrast between the external silence and the internal movement that, for the first time in a long time, wasn’t chaotic.

Strax didn’t move immediately.

But he noticed.

Of course he noticed.

His gaze drifted down for a moment, registering the gesture with the same silent attention he applied to everything, but without rigidity, without excessive analysis. Just... noticing.

Accepting.

And letting it happen.

It was Agnes who broke the silence this time.

Her voice was lower, more restrained than usual, but not insecure—just... sincere in a way she didn’t normally allow herself to be easily.

"...what do you have in mind about me?"

The question hung in the air for a moment, simple in form, but laden with more layers than it seemed at first glance. It wasn’t just curiosity. It wasn’t just provocation. It was something between the two of them—an attempt to understand how she was seen by someone who, until then, seemed to see everything with an almost uncomfortable clarity.

Strax took a few seconds to answer.

Not because he didn’t know.

But because... it wasn’t the kind of question he answered automatically.

He let out a small nasal sound, almost a whisper of laughter, low and light, while adjusting his posture slightly, without moving away, just adjusting her weight more comfortably against his shoulder.

"...that’s kind of cute," he commented, in a calm tone, without any intention of diminishing the question—on the contrary, there was a slight trace of appreciation there.

Agnes frowned slightly against his shoulder, but didn’t move away.

"Don’t change the subject," she murmured, still low, but with that characteristic trace of firmness that never completely disappeared.

Strax let out another small laugh.

But this time he answered.

"Not much," he said, directly, almost too simply at first glance.

There was a short pause.

And then he continued, his voice maintaining that calm tone, but now with a little more intention behind the words.

"I just like how you are."

The sentence came without embellishment.

Without trying to appear more than she was.

And precisely for that reason... she carried more weight.

Agnes remained silent.

She didn’t answer immediately.

But she didn’t walk away either.

Strax glanced slightly, not to avoid her, but like someone organizing their thoughts while continuing to speak.

"Although I think you’re kind of..." he paused briefly, as if searching for the right word, "...obsessed with work."

Agnes let out a small, almost automatic, grumble through her nose.

"It’s not obsession," she retorted, still leaning against him, without lifting her head. "It’s a need."

"It is obsession," he replied, without changing his tone.

And this time, she didn’t immediately retort.

Because... deep down, she knew.

Strax continued, now with a more distant look, as if effortlessly recalling recent memories.

"I see you training the guards all the time," he said. "Organizing, correcting, pressuring... always doing something."

He tilted his head slightly to the side, still leaning back in a relaxed manner.

"But I never see you... doing anything for yourself."

The sentence wasn’t accusatory.

Nor harsh.

It was... observation.

Pure.

Agnes breathed a little deeper, the air entering slowly, leaving even more slowly. Her fingers moved lightly in the water, creating small ripples that broke the unstable reflection of the steam.

"...someone needs to do it," she murmured.

"Yes," Strax replied, without disagreeing.

Another short pause.

"But it doesn’t have to be just you."

The silence that followed wasn’t uncomfortable.

But it was... denser.

Not heavy.

But significant.

Strax then looked at her again, this time with a slight trace of something different in his gaze—something closer to recognition than analysis.

"Honestly...," he began, "...I’m even a little impressed."

Agnes raised an eyebrow slightly, still without lifting her head.

"With what?"

"With this," he replied simply, tilting his face slightly toward the surroundings, the water, the moment. "You here. Standing still. Not giving orders to anyone."

She let out a small sigh, almost a humorless laugh. "It wasn’t exactly my choice," she said.

Strax made a slight sound of agreement.

"I know," he replied. "Monica forced you."

Agnes gave a small, almost resigned smile.

"Yes... she practically kicked me out."

"She was right," Strax said without hesitation.

Agnes didn’t respond immediately.

But she didn’t disagree either.

Because, at that moment... she was there.

Relaxing.

Breathing.

Leaning against him.

Something she probably wouldn’t have even considered a few hours earlier.

Strax then gently adjusted his arm behind her, not pulling, not pressing—just maintaining that stable, comfortable closeness, as if it were something natural.

"And that’s something," he added, in a lower tone.

Agnes remained silent for a few seconds.

Feeling.

Processing.

And, for the first time in a long time...

Without trying to correct anything.

Without trying to improve anything.

Without trying to do more.

She just stayed there.

Leaning against something. 𝘧𝓇𝑒𝑒𝑤ℯ𝑏𝓃𝘰𝑣ℯ𝘭.𝘤ℴ𝘮

Present.

And, slowly... truly relaxed.

Silence settled between them again, but now it wasn’t just comfortable—it was charged. There was something different in that space, something denser than before, as if each breath, each small movement, was being perceived with greater clarity than usual. The warmth of the water was no longer just relaxing; it seemed to envelop them both in a layer almost isolated from the rest of the world, muffling everything that wasn’t... that moment.

Agnes remained with her head resting on Strax’s shoulder, but her breathing had subtly changed. It wasn’t as uniform as before. There were small variations, almost imperceptible, but enough to reveal that something inside her was... moving.

Thoughts.

Sensations.

Decisions being made without her verbalizing any of them. Strax, beside her, remained relaxed. His eyes closed, his body loose, as if that moment were a legitimate pause amidst everything he carried. But he wasn’t oblivious. He never was. He perceived her rhythm, the slight adjustment in her posture, the way the weight of her head was no longer just rest—it was a choice.

And he said nothing.

He didn’t interrupt.

He didn’t rush.

He simply... let it happen.

Agnes opened her eyes slowly, her gaze lost for a moment in the steam rising ahead, as if searching for some kind of clarity. But there was no external answer. There never was. It was internal.

It always had been.

She took a deep breath.

Once.

Twice.

And then, slowly, she lifted her head from his shoulder.

The movement was small, but full of intention. Not abrupt, not hesitant—just... deliberate. Her eyes turned to Strax’s face, observing him silently for a moment, as if assessing something she already knew, but needed... to accept.

His eyes were still closed.

But, as always—

He knew.

Without haste, his eyes opened, meeting hers directly, without surprise, without questioning. Just presence.

And that... made all the difference.

Because there was no doubt there.

No retreat.

No judgment.

Only... him.

Agnes swallowed hard, almost imperceptibly, but didn’t look away this time. Her fingers moved slightly in the water, as if releasing the last bit of tension that remained.

"...you’re annoying," she murmured, her voice low, but without any real weight of complaint.

The corner of Strax’s mouth curved slightly.

"I know."

Simple.

As always.

But that... didn’t break the moment.

It deepened it.

The space between them seemed smaller now.

Or perhaps... they were just realizing it for the first time.

Agnes tilted her face a little more, enough so that the distance between them ceased to be comfortable and became... conscious. Her gaze fell for a brief second to his lips, almost involuntarily—and she noticed.

And, for the first time... she didn’t recoil because of it.

Her heart beat a little faster, not from pure nervousness, but from anticipation. It was different from anything she did on the training field, different from any combat or strategic decision.

This wasn’t about absolute control.

It was about... allowing.

She let out a small sigh, almost inaudible.

And then—

She moved.

Slowly.

Without haste.

Without a sudden impulse.

Her hand left the water, resting lightly against his shoulder, not to push, not to pull—just to support herself in that movement she had already decided to make before she even realized it.

Their faces drew closer.

The distance disappeared.

And finally—

She kissed him.

It was a brief kiss.

Not intense.

Not urgent.

But real.

Loaded with everything she hadn’t said, all the previous frustration, the curiosity, the tension, the closeness built little by little up to that point.

A touch of lips that didn’t need to be more than that.

Because the meaning... was already all there.

When she pulled away, it was just enough to regain the minimal space between them, but not enough to completely break the connection. Her eyes remained on his, now with something different—no more hesitation, no more doubt.

Just... decision.

And, perhaps—

A slight challenge.

"...it took a while," she murmured, almost as if she were complaining about him... when, deep down, she knew the decision had been hers all along.