The morning sunlight filtered through the curtains, soft and golden, brushing across the room like a gentle reminder that the world still moved, even after all the chaos.
I stirred awake to find Calix still asleep beside me.
His face relaxed, peaceful, the kind of peace I had almost forgotten existed.
I studied him for a moment, memorizing the curve of his jaw, the slight tilt of his lips.
I reached out, brushing a stray lock of hair from his forehead.
He stirred slightly, murmuring something unintelligible, then nuzzled into my hand.
My chest tightened.
Careful, I reminded myself.
Don't get attached too fast.
Don't let your walls fall completely.
But my hand lingered anyway.
He opened his eyes slowly, blinking at me, and for a moment, we just looked at each other.
No words.
No pressure.
Just quiet.
"I didn't want to wake you," I whispered.
He smiled faintly. "You didn't." Then, after a pause, "Good morning."
"Good morning," I replied.
The words felt foreign on my tongue, but warm.
We stayed like that for a while.
His hand brushed mine occasionally, tentative, gentle, until I finally rested my head against his shoulder.
He let me, draping an arm around me as if I were fragile glass he didn't want to break.
I didn't feel the need to be perfect.
I didn't have to be strong. I didn't have to hide.
I just was.
—
Later, after breakfast, he suggested a walk in the garden.
I agreed, curious and a little hesitant.
The sun was high, but the warmth felt comforting rather than harsh.
He walked beside me, matching my pace, careful not to overstep.
Every now and then, he would brush against my hand, a simple touch that sent a flutter through me.
"You're getting better," he said softly, not looking at me but at my steps.
"I'm slow," I admitted, a small smile tugging at my lips.
"You're steady," he said. "Steady is better than fast."
I laughed quietly, letting him hear it. It felt strange, the sound of joy without tension, the way it filled the space around us.
He turned toward me, eyes soft. "I'm proud of you, Aurora."
I blinked.
His words settled in me like sunlight.
Not praise.
Not expectation.
Just simple truth.
I felt a flicker of warmth that didn't come with guilt or pressure.
"I… I like being here," I admitted.
"Good," he said, with that faint, shy smile he sometimes had when he didn't want to seem too forward. "Because I like having you here."
My heart skipped, but I didn't pull away.
That night, we ended up back in the bedroom, curled up under the soft blankets. He draped an arm over my shoulders, drawing me close.
"I could get used to this," he murmured.
"Get used to what?" I asked, my voice barely above a whisper.
"This. You. Being close."
I didn't know how to respond. Instead, I pressed my cheek to his chest, listening to the steady beat of his heart. It was grounding, comforting. Safe.
"I… like being close to you too," I admitted, finally, my fingers brushing along his hand.
He smiled against my hair. "Good. Because I'm not going anywhere."
And I believed him.
Again.
I let myself relax completely, letting my walls fall just a little.
I didn't feel weak.
I didn't feel trapped.
I felt… home.