The Only Exception

5. Shared Walls

"Give it a week," he said dryly.

She laughed, and he looked down, almost embarrassed. A rare thing, seeing him unsure of himself.

They stood there in the bedroom for a moment, the silence stretching again, not heavy this time — just uncertain.

Asi stepped toward the bed and sat on the edge, running her hands over the duvet.

"It's strange," she said.

"What is?"

"This," she replied. "You. Me. This place. It feels like I've stepped into someone else's life."

"It's yours now."

"That's the strangest part."

Alaz stayed standing. "If it's overwhelming—"

"It is," she interrupted. "But not in a bad way."

He nodded once, quietly.

There was a long pause.

Then, still looking at the bedspread, she said, "You really put effort into this. Into making it feel like me."

He nodded again.

Asi looked up at him, brow slightly raised. "Should I be concerned? Are you trying to impress me?"

"Would it be working?"

"Hmm." She leaned back slightly, legs still swinging above the floor. "I think it might. But only if you let me program the coffee machine."

Alaz blinked. "You want to program the machine. But you stopped drinking coffee."

"It doesn't matter, I might start again. I want full control. Custom profiles. Temperature settings. Bean-to-cup ratio."

"That's not a thing."

"It is in my world."

He sighed. "Fine. But I'm password-protecting my profile."

Asi smiled wide, pleased with herself. "You're learning."

They both stood in the warmth of that moment, a flicker of something easier, lighter passing between them.

"I don't want to step on your space," she said after a moment. "You've lived here alone for a long time."

"I've existed here alone," Alaz corrected. "Not the same thing."

She looked at him for a moment, then nodded. "Well, get ready. I have scented candles and opinions about curtains."

"I've already cleared a drawer in the kitchen for your teas."

Asi raised both brows. "My teas? I thought it was your teas?"

"The teas I got for you."

"So generous of you."

"I know, right?"

She laughed again — real laughter this time, her hand resting on the swell of her stomach as she shook her head.

Alaz watched her with something close to wonder. She always surprised him. Not because she was unpredictable — but because he had never learned how to predict kindness, or humor, or resilience. She wore all three so casually, like they cost her nothing. And maybe they did. Or maybe they cost her everything, and she still chose to give them anyway.

He stepped a little closer, but not too close.

"I know this isn't easy," he said.

"No," she agreed. "It isn't."