How will yn comfort a panicking Silas for not finding her for few hours?
Silas waking up from yet another nightmare about you getting tortured the same way he was by JTR. He looks calm, years of practise helps to conceal his emotions, but his hearts thumping against his chest. Even after he found you, the nightmares never fully went away, and you’ve learned to ignore it when he wakes up in the middle of the night now, he never tells you what he dreamt about anyways. If anything, you usually just nudge him with your foot, equally returning the favour of being nonchalant when it comes to expressing that you care.
But this time, this time when he turns to your side, it’s empty. You’re not there.
It’s fine- you’re fine. He closes his eyes and lays down. You’ve done this before, you’re probably in the bathroom.
Except he can’t bring himself to sleep until you’re by his side. He’s suffered from insomnia when you were taken. And he still can’t sleep until he’s physically knocked out by exhaustion when you’re not around. It’s why he won’t let you go to other towns without him.
He waits another minute before throwing the covers off him and makes his way towards the bathroom. Silas knocks, then enters when there is no answer. You’re not there.
You’re probably in the kitchen, finding something to eat. Your appetite never ceases to stun him (or make him suspect that you have a worm in your stomach.)
He makes his way to the kitchen downstairs, you’re not there. His heart sinks. Where- where could you be?
He goes to the dining room, the parlour, the basement, the gardens, the pool, the library, the ballet studio, you’re nowhere in the house. His eyes are wide, his blood runs cold, his fingers tremble as he makes his way down one hallway after another, slamming open the doors hard enough that they shake.
Where- where could you go? At this time of night? No- no one has broken in- who could’ve took you? He’s already dealt with his enemies- you’re not dead- you’re not dead! Maybe you just left- did you just leave him? Just walked out the door and leave him-
He rushed back to his room to check if you took anything with you. Money, jewellery, anything to confirm that you left and he could close down the country-
Silas turns around. There you are on the balcony, your back towards him, kneeling on the prayer mat. You go into prostration, and as he looks at you from behind the glass door, the peaceful sight calms him down. Or perhaps it’s you that calms him, not the act of utter submission and devotion to God?
You complete your prayer, Tahajjud, he remembers reading about it. The voluntary prayer for Muslims, where you disturb your sleep and wake yourself up to kneel before the Almighty, where your prayers is a direct communication between you and your Creator. Where the believer kneels while everyone else is asleep, no performance for anyone. Just you and God.
He watches you raise your hands, making dua, eyes closed contently before you lie on the prayer mat, your fingers tracing patterns on it absentmindedly.
Silas watches for another few minutes, letting you savour it alone before he opens the balcony door. You startle slightly, before rushing to get up, like you were caught doing something bad.
“What are you doing out here?” He snapped intentionally, letting the frustration of running around looking for you seep through his voice.
However, you’ve both started to understand what the other person means versus what they say. So when Silas says:
“What are you doing out here?” You translate it: I was looking for you.
You roll your eyes, picking up the prayer mat. “I was praying for your sins while you slept. Clearly you saw me here by your balcony, you creep.” He translates it to: I was praying outside, just where you could see me, but I didn’t want to disturb your sleep.
A gust of wind blows by, the scarf slipping from your head. Silas scoffs, pulling you inside before closing the balcony door. “Praying for my sins? Clearly, I’ve repented for them by marrying a woman who’d like to frame me for her demise. What was the plan for today? Hypothermia?” You translate it to: I’ve been blessed in the best way by having you as my wife. Please don’t freeze to death.
You push past him and go to your side of the bed. He looks at the prayer mat you’d placed on the chair, before joining you in bed. “And besides-“ Silas starts as he pulls the covers over you and himself, you two facing each other. “- why can’t you pray inside here? Are you afraid of wake up from the floor creaking beneath your giant feet?” You translate it to: Pray inside, I don’t care if I wake up- just as long you’re there. Better than waking up alone.
You close your eyes, ready to sleep. “Keep talking, and you’ll find my giant foot lodged so far up your-“ honestly, he doesn’t translate that to anything else because you really do mean it.
He closes his eyes, the corner of his lips quirking in victory. He pissed you off, he won. Under the covers, your hand inches near his. He pretends not to notice it, slowly inching his hand near the softness of yours. You connect your pinky with his.
I love you. Your pinky squeezes his.
I love you. His pinky squeezes yours.
And just like that, the both of you confess without ever saying the words, both ready to die before saying anything affectionate. A very nonchalant way of loving each other.
His body jerks away before his eyes snap open when he feels your ice cold feet touch his. You feigned being dead asleep, while the barely suppressed grin gave you away.
