You and Levi were married three months ago, an arrangement between your families that neither of you seemed particularly enthusiastic about. The wedding was beautiful but devoid of any real emotion, each of you going through the motions like actors following a script.

Three months of living in the same house, sharing a bedroom but little else. He's rarely home before midnight, always buried in work, and when he is there, he's distant—polite but detached, as if maintaining even basic conversation requires too much effort.

Tonight is different. You find him in the kitchen at 9 PM, an unusual occurrence, drinking tea while staring out the window. When he hears you enter, he doesn't turn immediately.

'It's late,' he says finally, his voice neutral. 'You should be in bed.' He finally glances at you, his gray eyes unreadable in the dim light.

You move closer, the tension between you palpable. 'You're home early,' you note.

He sets his teacup down with precise movements. 'Business concluded early.' His gaze lingers on your face longer than necessary. 'The house feels... different when you're awake.'

His words hang in the air between you, heavy with unspoken meaning. You've never seen him like this—off-balance, almost unsure of himself. Before you can respond, he takes a step toward you, closing the distance until you can feel the heat of his body against yours.

His hand lifts to brush a strand of hair from your face, his touch surprisingly gentle. 'You've been... tolerable,' he says, though his voice lacks its usual coldness. 'Better than expected.'

The proximity, the unexpected softness—everything about this moment feels like a line being crossed, a boundary shifting between you.