*Bael’s POV*

Sleep doesn’t come.

Bael lies in bed staring at the ceiling, running through the dinner conversation for the third time, trying to identify where exactly the miscalculation occurred.

He’d said Runze’s name.

Simple, direct, an opening for conversation.

But Runze had stood up and left.

The logic doesn’t track.

If Runze wanted answers, if he cared about what happened that night, then why shut down the first attempt at discussion?

Bael turns onto his side, the room looks the same, nothing has changed. The furniture is exactly where it should be, the lights off, the curtains drawn. There is no reason for it to feel... off.

And yet.

He exhales slowly and closes his eyes again, counts backwards from one hundred.

At seventy-three, his thoughts loop back to the same place.

Runze.

Specifically, the fact that Runze is not here.

Which shouldn’t matter... it didn’t matter before.

Bael’s eyes open again.

This is ridiculous.

He pushes himself upright, reaches for the glass of water on the bedside table, takes a sip, sets it back down a little harder than necessary. The sound is sharp in the quiet room.

He’s losing time over something that should have been resolved two days ago.

Nothing happened.

That is the relevant fact, the only relevant fact.

This situation is inefficient.

They’re living in the same house, raising a child together, and currently operating as if the other person doesn’t exist beyond necessary practical interactions.

That’s unsustainable.

Grandmother made that clear enough tonight with her pointed observations about presence and responsibility, her thinly veiled criticism of how Bael has been handling this marriage.

Which was... accurate, uncomfortably so.

...Something needs to change.

And waiting for Runze to calm down clearly isn’t working, so Bael will address it directly tonight.

Now, before this goes on any longer.

He gets out of bed, pulls on the shirt he discarded earlier, and walks through the dark hallway to Runze’s old room.

The door is closed, light visible underneath.

Runze is awake.

Bael knocks twice, firm, deliberate.

Silence from inside, not the silence of someone who didn’t hear, the silence of someone choosing not to respond.

"Runze," Bael says, voice level. "Open the door."

More silence.

Bael waits.

Counts to ten.

Then:

"I know you’re awake."

Still nothing, this is—

Bael takes a breath.

Restarts.

"I’m not leaving until you open the door," he says, calmer now. More controlled. "We can do this now or we can do it in the morning when you’re trying to leave for your working session. Your choice."

That gets a response, movement inside the room, footsteps approaching the door.

Then it opens just enough, maybe six inches.

Runze stands there in the gap, expression carefully blank, not inviting Bael in, not closing the door in his face, just... existing in the space between those two options.

"What?" Runze asks flatly.

Bael looks at him properly for the first time in days, he looks tired, not just physically, though there are shadows under his eyes that suggest he hasn’t been sleeping well, but something deeper.

Worn down, the bump is more prominent than Bael remembered.

Four months now.

"About that night," Bael says, because there’s no point dancing around what this is actually about. "Nothing happened."

Runze’s expression doesn’t change.

"Okay," he says.

That’s it.

Just... okay.

Like Bael just told him something as inconsequential as the weather forecast.

"I went to his apartment," Bael continues, since apparently more detail is required. "He initiated contact. I stopped it before anything happened and left. That’s all."

Runze is still just standing there, listening, not reacting.

"I didn’t sleep with him," Bael says, more explicitly now. "Nothing happened beyond what I’ve already told you."

"I heard you the first time," Runze says quietly.

"Then why—"

"It doesn’t matter anymore."

The words are delivered with no particular emotion, just factual, final.

Bael stops.

"How does it not matter?" he asks. "You accused me of sleeping with him. I’m telling you I didn’t."

"And I’m telling you it doesn’t matter." Runze’s hand tightens slightly on the door. "You went there yourself. Whether you actually fucked him or just thought about it while you were there... I don’t care anymore."

"You asked—"

"I asked if you slept with him, and you told me it wasn’t my concern." Runze’s voice stays level. Controlled. "So I’m making it not my concern. Problem solved."

This is...

Bael doesn’t understand this logic at all.

"I’m telling you now," he says. "I’m clarifying what actually happened."

"Three days later."

"I didn’t think—"

"You didn’t think it mattered," Runze finishes. "I know. That’s been made very clear."

Bael’s jaw tightens.

"That’s not what I was going to say."

"Then what were you going to say?"

The question hangs there.

And Bael doesn’t have a good answer.

Because the truth is that he didn’t think the distinction mattered, that whether he actually slept with Xue Lian or just came close seemed irrelevant given that nothing happened.

But apparently, to Runze, the distinction matters a great deal.

Or mattered.

Past tense.

Because now Runze is standing there saying it doesn’t matter anymore, that Bael’s explanation is coming too late to change anything.

The silence stretches between them.

Runze’s hand moves slightly on the door, preparing to close it.

"If there’s nothing else," he says quietly, "I need to sleep."

Not angry or emotional, just... done.

"Runze—"

"Goodnight, Bael."

The door closes.

Firm and final.

The lock clicks into place.

And Bael stands there in the hallway, staring at the closed door, trying to figure out where exactly that conversation went wrong.

He explained, told the truth, clarified what actually happened.

That should have been sufficient.

But apparently, it wasn’t, apparently, explaining three days later instead of immediately destroyed whatever impact the explanation might have had.

Apparently, "nothing happened" isn’t the answer Runze needed to hear.

Though what answer would have been sufficient, Bael doesn’t know.

He stands there another moment, hand raised to knock again, then drops it.

This isn’t working.

Forcing the conversation isn’t going to change Runze’s mind.

He turns and walks back to the bedroom.

Their bedroom.