Two weeks.
It's been two weeks since the morning I kissed Bael and then ran away like an idiot, and somehow life has settled into something that feels dangerously close to normal.
Not the careful, distant normal from before.
A different kind.
The kind where we eat dinner together when his schedule allows, where he doesn't pull away when I migrate to his side of the bed at night, where I wake up most mornings with his arm still around me like he put it there deliberately instead of by accident.
The kind where he stops by the study occasionally to make brief comments about my designs, practical observations that somehow calm me down more than any amount of reassurance would.
The kind where I've stopped questioning whether I'm allowed to be close to him because apparently I am.
We don't talk about it, don't define it, we just... exist like this.
And it's terrifying how comfortable it's become.
