It was the kind of marriage that existed more in public than in private - an arrangement, born of political need rather than love. Your union with Lucius Verus was no different from the others in the Roman elite, where alliances were forged for power rather than passion. In the months since your wedding, the distance between you and him had only grown. His warmth, often present in the eyes of others, was something you never felt up close. He was a man of status and titles, and you, a woman bound by duty.

You couldn't bring yourself to be close to him. Your marriage had been cold, more a formality than a union of hearts. His kindness seemed distant, like a memory you hadn't yet grasped, and the physical space between you in your bed each night grew to feel almost insurmountable. You often turned away from him when sleep called, curling into yourself with your back to his. It was the only way you could avoid the uncomfortable feeling of being in a bed with someone who remained so far away.

But now, Christmas was approaching, and the scent of pine and spiced wine hung heavy in the air. The city streets were lined with festive decorations, and people of all classes were preparing to celebrate. But to you, the season only heightened the chill in your heart. You had never been one for celebrations, and the idea of enjoying them with Lucius seemed too foreign to even imagine. Your thoughts were still tangled in the grief of a marriage you didn't choose, and the idea of spending the holidays with him felt like another obligation.

Yet Lucius, in his quiet way, was determined not to let the season pass without trying to shift the atmosphere between you. He had long noticed the way you kept your distance, the way you turned away each night, and though he never mentioned it, he understood. He had not been the husband you had hoped for, not in the way he had tried to be. He had built walls around his heart long before you had come into his life. He was as unsure of how to approach you as you were with him, but that was going to change, if only for one evening.

As the day of Christmas Eve arrived, Lucius came to you, holding a small, simple bundle wrapped in deep red cloth. His usual stoic demeanor seemed softened by something else, something far less formal.

"Y/n," he said quietly, sitting beside you on the couch, his voice sincere. "I know we've not been close. And I know that this marriage is not what you wanted, nor what I expected. But tonight, I'd like to offer you something-something small. A gesture of goodwill."

He unwrapped the cloth, revealing a delicate piece of jewelry - a simple golden pendant in the shape of a star, its surface glimmering softly under the light of the nearby fire.

"I know you don't like to show emotion. And perhaps you think I'm not capable of understanding yours, but I want you to know that I see you. I hear you. Even if it is in the quietest of ways."

You stared at the pendant, your throat tightening. It was beautiful, and yet it seemed to symbolize the connection between you two - small, delicate, but with the potential to shine.

"Lucius..." you began, your voice faltering. You hadn't expected this. You hadn't expected him to understand, let alone acknowledge the unspoken tension between you. For a brief moment, your cold exterior began to melt, but the walls you had built were still tall.

Before you could say anything else, Lucius gently placed the pendant into your hand, his touch lingering for a moment longer than necessary. He gave a small, tender smile, his eyes softer than they had been in months.

"I don't expect anything from you. But I thought... maybe tonight we can share something simple. No politics, no expectations. Just... a quiet Christmas together."

You looked at him for a long while, unsure of what to say. But something in his voice, something in his eyes, made your heart flutter in a way that was unfamiliar. It had been so long since anyone had reached out to you like this, so long since anyone had been so patient. You sighed softly and nodded.

That night, the two of you sat together, sharing a meal by candlelight, and for the first time in ages, the space between you felt less cold. You spoke about small things - the city's decorations, the weather, the children playing in the streets. You didn't speak of the past or the future. It was a moment suspended in time.

Later, as you retired to your chambers, you once again found yourself in bed, your back turned as you prepared to fall asleep alone. But tonight was different. Tonight, something had shifted.

As you lay there in the dark, you felt a warmth at your back - his warmth. Lucius, with his quiet, steady presence, had carefully shifted so that his body was closer to yours than it had been in months. You felt the weight of his arm settle lightly across your waist, pulling you towards him, as if to say that even in silence, there was a shared connection between you.

And for the first time in a long while, you didn't pull away.

Instead, you snuggled closer, feeling his chest rise and fall with each steady breath. His heartbeat, strong and rhythmic, seemed to calm your own. His warmth seeped into your skin, chasing away the chill of isolation. You closed your eyes, not quite knowing when or how, but the distance between you two had finally started to lessen. Slowly, imperceptibly, you could feel the coldness of your marriage begin to thaw.

Lucius whispered softly, his breath warm against your ear. "Thank you, Y/n. For letting me be near."

His words, quiet and heartfelt, made something shift deep inside you - something you hadn't expected to feel. You didn't reply, but you didn't need to. You simply let yourself relax into his arms, allowing the peace of the moment to envelop you.

And as the sound of the night filled the room - the crackling of the fire, the faint hum of the city - for the first time, you didn't sleep with your back to him. Instead, you fell asleep facing him, your body tucked against his, and for the first time since your marriage began, you didn't feel so alone.

And Lucius, with a heart full of quiet hope, lay beside you, knowing that maybe, just maybe, this was the beginning of something far more beautiful than either of you had imagined