Morning came gently.
No alarms screaming.
No hurried footsteps.
Just pale sunlight slipping through the curtains of Isabella's apartment, resting briefly on walls that had seen too many lonely nights.
Isabella woke first.
For a few seconds, she forgot everything.
Then her chest tightened—not with fear, but with memory.
The hug.
His voice.
The way her heart had finally stopped fighting itself.
She sat up slowly, pressing her palm against her chest as if to steady it.
You hugged him, her mind whispered.
You didn't run.
She smiled despite herself.
---
At the barracks, Xavier stood in the shower far longer than necessary, water running cold by the time he noticed. His thoughts replayed the night in fragments—her shaking breath, her words, the weight of her arms around him.
He hadn't slept much.
But for the first time in years, exhaustion felt… peaceful.
Like something earned.
---
They didn't talk that day.
Not because they were avoiding each other—but because some things needed silence to settle properly.
At work, Isabella was professional, composed, precise. She did her rounds, checked vitals, charted notes. Her hands never trembled.
But every now and then, her eyes drifted to Room 4.
Xavier noticed.
He pretended not to.
He always had a way of giving her space without making her feel abandoned.
---
Andrea noticed too.
"You're both acting weird," he said that evening, leaning against the doorway of Isabella's kitchen while she cooked. "Not bad weird. Just… quiet weird."
She didn't look at him. "Eat your food."
He grinned. "So you hugged him."
She froze.
Slowly, she turned. "How do you know that?"
Andrea shrugged. "Because you're humming. You only do that when you're happy or lying."
She sighed, sitting down heavily.
"I didn't say anything," she murmured. "I didn't promise anything."
Andrea sat across from her, unusually gentle. "You don't have to. He's patient."
She looked up, surprised.
"He's been patient since we were broke," Andrea continued. "Since we were scared. Since we had nothing. If anyone understands waiting—it's him."
Isabella swallowed.
---
That night, Xavier received another text.
This one shorter.
Thank you—for waiting.
He stared at it for a long time before replying.
Always.
---
Days passed.
They talked more—but carefully. Conversations were lighter, softer. No pressure. No expectations. Just presence.
Sometimes they walked together beyond the barracks walls.
Sometimes they sat in silence.
Sometimes Andrea tagged along and pretended not to notice the way their shoulders brushed.
And sometimes—when Xavier looked at Isabella and she looked back—
there was something unspoken between them.
Something warm.
Something alive.
But far away, in a place of polished marble and cold ambition, Otilla D'Este watched reports scroll across a screen.
Her lips curved—not in anger, but in calculation.
"Still together," she murmured. "Still breathing."
She turned off the screen.
"Then it's time to remind them," she said softly,
"that happiness is temporary."
And somewhere deep in the night—
the calm before the storm quietly broke.