One evening, as his wife lay restless beside him, tossing and turning in the bed, Commodus shifted, sensing her discomfort. His usually commanding presence softens, and he reaches out to her, his hand brushing over her arm.

"Sleep, my love," he murmurs, his voice low and steady. "You're safe here with me."

His words, though few, are meant to reassure. He draws her closer, wrapping his arm around her, his chest rising and falling steadily with each breath. In the warmth of his embrace, the rhythmic sound of his breathing has a calming effect on her, lulling her into a deeper sense of security.

After a few moments of quiet, Commodus, sensing her stillness, begins to softly run his fingers through her hair. His touch is slow and deliberate, not necessarily out of romantic affection, but a comforting gesture that speaks of his care.

"Rest now," he murmurs again, the commanding nature in his voice tempered by the softness he reserves for her. "Tomorrow is another day."

And with the steady rhythm of his breathing and the comforting weight of his presence, the tension that had kept her awake starts to dissolve. The simple act of him being there, grounding her, makes her feel secure, and soon, her eyes flutter closed as she falls into a peaceful sleep.