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I remember the exact moment it shifted, watching him fall apart with fear that this, that us, was something his mind had invented because he wanted it too badly to trust it. I remember thinking, with a certainty that scared me more than it should have, that there was no future where I walked away from him. Not cleanly. Not permanently. I could try. I have tried, in smaller ways, over smaller disagreements.

It never sticks.

I am stuck with Maksim.

I’ve made peace with that.

The past three months have proven something else, too. Something I wasn’t entirely prepared for.

He’s better.

Not different. Maksim will never be different, not fundamentally. But better. He goes to therapy without turning it into a fight first. He takes his medication without needing to be reminded twice. He’s been back at the mansion more, sitting through family dinners instead of finding an excuse to disappear before dessert. He hasn’t checked into a hotel once since we started this. He sleeps here, in this bed, more nights than not.

He’s calm.

Not quiet—Maksim doesn’t know how to be quiet—but steadier. Like something in him has stopped bracing for impact.

I’d like to think I had something to do with that. I know better than to say it out loud. He’d turn it into an argument just to avoid sitting with the compliment.

A rustle of blankets breaks the silence behind me.

“You’re being too loud,” Maksim mumbles, voice thick with sleep, muffled against the pillow.

“I’m getting dressed.”

“Loudly.”

“I haven’t said a word.”

“Your existence is loud.”

I glance over my shoulder. He’s turned onto his side now, eyes barely open, hair sticking up in three different directions.

Did I mention that he’s still stubborn and annoying as hell? He still talks too much. He leaves cabinet doors open like closing them is beneath him. He still texts me whenever I’m at work with nothing but a photo of whatever he’s eating, no context, like I have nothing better to do than admire his lunch. He still threatens to shoot me at least twice a week when I tell him no and still starts arguments just to see if I’ll finish them.

And I do.

I put him in his place when he needs it. Firmly and without hesitation. He always pretends to hate it.

He doesn’t.

“Go back to sleep,” I say, adjusting my collar one last time.

He makes a low, displeased sound and stretches. “Come cuddle instead of going to work.”

“Not a chance.”

“Fine. Suffer, then.” He shrugs as he hauls himself upright, swings his legs off the bed and stands. Stretching in a way that’s purposely, infuriatingly distracting before he catches my eye and smirks. “Don’t say I didn’t warn you, my morning breath might actually kill you if I get too close. I’m doing you a favor.”

“A true humanitarian.”

“I try.” He pads towards the bathroom, unbothered, entirely too pleased with himself for someone who has been awake for less than two minutes.

I check my watch. Six forty-five. I still have half an hour before I need to leave, and I know from experience that Maksim without coffee is a hazard to himself and everyone around him.

“I’ll make you a coffee,” I call after him.

He pauses in the doorway, glancing back with something softer under the smugness. “That’s so sweet of you, Mr. Grump”