I’m lying in bed pretending to sleep.

This is ridiculous.

I know it’s ridiculous.

But here I am anyway, eyes closed, trying to keep my breathing even, listening for any sound of movement from downstairs.

Bael came home about twenty minutes ago.

Later than usual... It’s past seven, and I’d stopped working around six-thirty, right when he normally gets back.

Sat there in the study, hyper-aware of every sound in the house, waiting.

When I finally heard the front door, heard his footsteps in the entryway, heard him talking briefly to someone... probably Mrs. Wen... I panicked.

I just completely panicked.

Ran to the bedroom, threw myself into bed, pulled the covers up, and closed my eyes like that would somehow solve all my problems.

Like if I’m asleep, I won’t have to see his face or gauge his reaction or figure out if this morning’s kiss ruined everything.

Mature.

Very mature.

I can hear him now, footsteps on the stairs, getting closer, the sound of the bedroom door opening.

I keep my eyes shut.

Keep my breathing as steady as I can manage, which is hard because my heart is racing and every instinct is screaming at me to just open my eyes and get this over with.

But I don’t.

Just lie there like a coward, pretending to be asleep at seven-thirty in the evening like that’s a completely normal thing to do.

The footsteps stop.

I can feel him looking at me.

Can feel the weight of his attention even through closed eyelids, and it takes everything in me not to react, not to tense up more than I already am, not to give myself away immediately.

What is he thinking?

Is he buying this?

Does he know I’m faking?

The silence stretches impossibly long.

My heart is hammering so hard I’m worried he can hear it, worried the sound is echoing through the quiet room like a drum announcing my deception.

Then he moves... crossing to the closet, I think, based on the direction of the sound.

The relief is so intense I almost sigh out loud.

Almost.

I hear fabric rustling.

Him changing, probably.

Getting ready to shower.

My whole body is tense, coiled tight with anxiety, and I’m trying very hard to make it not obvious that I’m tense, which probably just makes it more obvious.

Every muscle is screaming at me to move, to shift position, to do something other than lie here frozen like a corpse.

But I don’t dare.

I keep my eyes closed, keep my breathing as steady as possible, keep pretending this is totally normal.

This was a terrible plan.

Why did I think this was a good plan?

What am I even accomplishing here except prolonging my own anxiety?

The bathroom door opens.

Closes.

Water starts running.

I let out a breath I didn’t realize I was holding and open my eyes slightly, just enough to confirm the room is actually empty.

Safe.

For now.

I have maybe ten minutes before he’s done.

Ten minutes to look more naturally asleep instead of like someone who’s having a panic attack while pretending to be unconscious.

I shift across the mattress slowly, carefully, until I’m definitely past the middle line and well into what would normally be his space.

That’s... that’s probably too obvious, right?

But I can’t help it.

Need to know if he’ll accept this, if he’ll let me stay close, if last night wasn’t just a one-time thing.

I close my eyes again.

Try to relax.

Try to actually look like someone who’s sleeping instead of someone who’s having a small crisis while pretending to sleep.

My breathing evens out slightly, not from any conscious effort, just from sheer exhaustion.

The anxiety is tiring.

The whole day has been tiring.

The water shuts off.

My heart rate picks up again immediately.

Here we go.

I hear him moving around in the bathroom, brushing teeth, probably, going through whatever his evening routine is.

Each sound feels amplified, significant, like I’m tracking his movements through the wall.

Then the door opens.

Footsteps crossing the room.

Getting closer.

I keep my eyes firmly shut, keep my breathing as even as possible despite my racing heart.

The mattress dips as he gets into bed, and I can feel the warmth of him even though we’re not touching yet.

Can smell that sandalwood soap, clean and familiar.

He settles in.

Silence.

I keep my breathing even, keep my eyes closed, keep pretending.

Please don’t let this be weird.

Please let everything be okay.

Then his voice cuts through the quiet, low and amused.

"You know, for someone who’s supposedly asleep, your breathing is remarkably tense."

My breath catches.

Shit.

"And now you’re holding your breath entirely," he continues, and I can hear the smirk in his voice. "Interesting sleeping technique."

I give up.

Open my eyes and turn my head to look at him, and yes, he’s smirking, propped up slightly on one elbow, looking down at me with that expression that says he knew exactly what I was doing the entire time.

"How long have you known?" I ask, face heating up.

"That you were faking?" He tilts his head slightly. "Since I walked in. You’re not very good at pretending."

"I could have actually been asleep."

"At seven-thirty?"

"People take naps."

"You don’t."

Fair point.

I look away, staring at the ceiling instead of at him, at that annoyingly knowing expression.

"Were you waiting for me?" he asks.

The question is casual, but there’s something underneath it.

Curiosity, maybe.

I don’t know how to answer that.

Can’t admit that yes, I was waiting, that I’ve been anxious all day, that I ran to bed like a scared rabbit the moment I heard him come home because I didn’t know how to face him after this morning.

"I was just tired," I say instead.

"Runze."

The way he says my name... patient but not buying it... makes me look back at him.

"I worked hard today," I try. "The cushion helped, but I’m still sore, and I thought I’d just rest for a bit before dinner."

"You moved to my side of the bed while resting?"

Damn it.

He’s not going to let this go.

"I didn’t realize I had," I mutter.

"You’re a terrible liar."

"I’m not lying."

"You’re doing it right now."

I press my lips together, not sure what to say to that, and he’s just watching me with that amused expression, like this is entertaining.

Like I’m entertaining.

The silence stretches.

I should just let it go.

Should just accept that he’s teasing me and not pulling away and that should be enough.

But I can’t.

Can’t stop thinking about it.

"About this morning..." I say finally, still not looking at him.

"Hmm?"

"I thought... I thought I might have crossed a line."

There’s a pause.

Then: "By kissing me?"

"...Yes."

Another pause, longer this time, and I risk a glance at him.

He’s watching me with that same amused expression, but there’s something else underneath it now.

Something I can’t quite read.

"Why would a wife need permission to kiss their husband?" he asks.

Wife.

The word lands strange.

Not wrong, exactly, just... unexpected.

Because technically I am... that’s literally what I am in this arrangement, the omega wife... but Bael was the one who pulled away after we slept holding each other before. Created distance the next morning like I’d done something wrong.

And now he’s acting like a kiss is perfectly normal between husbands?

Mixed signals.

As usual.

"I just didn’t want to..." I trail off, not sure how to finish that sentence.

Didn’t want to assume? Didn’t want to overstep? Didn’t want to make things weird again?

"Though I suppose it’s hard to gauge reception when you run away immediately after."

My face heats up.

"I didn’t run."

"You grabbed the cushion and disappeared into the study within five seconds. That’s running."

"I had work to do."

"Mmm."

That’s not agreement.

That’s him humoring me while knowing I’m full of shit.

But he’s not pulling away.

Not creating distance.

Just teasing me like this is normal, like this morning was fine, like I didn’t cross some invisible line.

The relief hits so hard I feel dizzy with it.

He shifts, and then his arm slides around my waist, pulling me against him.

No more teasing.

Just this.

I let myself relax into it, into him, letting all the tension from the day drain away.

"Go to sleep, Runze."

"It’s barely eight."

"You were tired enough to fake sleep twenty minutes ago."

I should probably be annoyed, but I’m too comfortable to care.

Too relieved.

Too wrapped up in the warmth of him, the solid weight of his presence, the way his fingers are tracing those idle patterns against my side like it’s unconscious, like touching me is just something he does now.

My eyes drift closed, and this time it’s not pretending.

Just genuine tiredness catching up with me.

His breathing is steady against my back.

His hand is warm through my shirt.

The room is quiet except for those small sounds of existence, the house settling, the rhythm of two people breathing in sync.

I was so scared earlier.

Terrified that this morning’s impulsive kiss would break whatever fragile thing we’d built, that I’d wake up tomorrow to distance and careful politeness and Bael pulling away again like he did before.

But he’s here.

Holding me.

Teasing me about running away instead of making it weird.

Acting like a kiss between husbands is normal, expected even, despite all his mixed signals and confusing patterns.

Maybe it is normal now.

Maybe this is just... what we are.

Whatever that means.

I sink deeper into sleep, into the warmth and safety of being held, and for now...just for now, I let myself stop worrying about tomorrow.

Stop analyzing what this means or where it’s going or whether I’m setting myself up for heartbreak.

Just exist here in this moment where everything is okay.

For now, everything is okay.