Real.
I studied him for a long moment, then let out a small breath.
“You’re not simple,” I said.
“No.”
“I thought you would be.”
“I know.”
My mouth curved slightly. “That was a mistake.”
“Yes.”
The agreement should have annoyed me.
Instead, it made something soften.
Because he wasn’t pretending to be anything else.
My hand slid down from his neck to his chest again, resting there, feeling the steady rhythm beneath my palm.
“And this?” I asked quietly. “What is this, now?”
His hand moved up, covering mine where it rested against him.
“Still unfolding,” he said.
Something in me resisted that.
And something else leaned into it.
I held his gaze, aware of both.
“That requires trust,” I said.
“Yes.”
“And you think I have that?”
“I think you’re building it.”
The distinction mattered.
I exhaled slowly, my body settling more fully against his, the tension shifting into something steadier.
Something that didn’t feel like a battle.
Didn’t feel like a test.
Just … presence.
His thumb brushed lightly over my hand.
“You’re not pulling away,” he said.
“No.”
