Red strands everywhere—across my chest, my throat, my mouth. I don’t move right away. I just breathe her in and let the moment stretch longer than it should.
She sleeps heavy now.
She didn’t at first.
The first few nights she slept beside me, she woke at every sound. Shifted when I moved. Clung to me and pulled away in the same breath. Like she didn’t trust that this—us—was real.
Now she presses closer in her sleep, like my body is the place she lands without thinking.
That’s new.
And it scares the hell out of me.
I run my fingers through her hair slowly, carefully, like I might break something if I’m not gentle enough. She sighs, buries her face into my chest, and mumbles something I don’t catch.
I smile anyway.
We fall into a rhythm I didn’t know I was craving.
Mornings start with coffee—hers first, always. I don’t even ask anymore. I just make it the way she likes it and set it in front of her while she’s still blinking herself awake.
She steals my shirts. Leaves notebooks on every surface. Talks to Olga like she’s a toddler who needs encouragement and discipline in equal measure.
I catch myself watching her constantly.
The way she sits cross-legged on the floor, papers spread around her.
The way she bites the end of a pen when she’s thinking.
The way her face softens when she talks about the women she wants to help.
She doesn’t ask me to be involved.
And somehow, that makes me want to be more.
We work side by side more often than not.
She sits in my office some days, feet tucked beneath her, notebook balanced on her knee. I take calls and pretend I’m focused, but every sound she makes pulls my attention.
Jack notices before I do.
“You’re different,” he says one afternoon, handing me a file.
“Define different.”
He smirks. “You don’t look like you want to set something on fire today.”
I don’t answer.
Because the truthis—I don’t.
Evenings are my favorite.
We cook together sometimes. Other nights we eat on the couch, legs tangled, watching something neither of us is really paying attention to.
I brush my thumb over her knuckles when she talks. She leans into my shoulder when she laughs.
I start noticing everything.
