The Only Exception

5. Shared Walls

He rubbed at his chest with the heel of his hand. A tightness had settled there — not pain exactly, but something heavy, something alive.

He rolled over again, eyes flickering toward the hallway.

Was she sleeping?

Was she okay?

She barely ate after the whole egg incident.

He pressed the heel of his hand to his chest again. The ache wouldn't go away.

It was too much.

Alaz sat up, slowly. His feet touched the floor with practiced quiet, and he moved like a shadow down the hall, one careful step after the other.

He stopped in front of her door.

The hallway light was off, but the moon was full tonight. Its light cut a sharp silver path across the floor.

He hesitated. Then slowly turned the knob and eased the door open.

Asi's room was dim but not dark. The curtains were half drawn, and the city lights painted the far wall in soft gold and gray. She was curled up in the bed, one hand tucked beneath her cheek, the blanket rising and falling gently with each breath.

She looked...

He didn't even have a word for it.

Beautiful felt insufficient. Ethereal was too dramatic. She looked right. Like someone who had never belonged in the chaos of his world but somehow managed to slip into it anyway — and now, nothing made sense without her.

He stayed at the door for a moment, just watching.

Making sure she was breathing.

Making sure they were okay.

Her curly hair was spread across the pillow like ink, and her face — stripped of tension, of sarcasm, of shields — was impossibly soft.

He didn't dare step further. Didn't say a word. Just watched, breathed in, held the moment.

Then he closed the door quietly behind him and walked back to his room.

The pain in his chest had eased.

He could sleep now.

*

The morning sunlight poured through the wide glass windows, soft and golden. It kissed the marble floors, warmed the walls, made the grayness of the house feel a little less cold.

Asi emerged from her room, barefoot, wearing an oversized sweater and sleep still in her eyes. Her hair was tied up in a loose bun, strands falling rebelliously around her cheeks. She stretched her arms over her head as she yawned, walking toward the kitchen, half-asleep, half-human.

Alaz was already there, leaning against the counter, a mug in one hand. He was freshly showered, wearing a simple black t-shirt and gray sweatpants, the kind that somehow made him look even taller. His hair was still damp, curling slightly at the edges.

He looked up as she entered and gave her a soft smile — not big, just enough to crease the corner of his mouth.

"Good morning, Asi kız," he said, his voice low and warm with sleep. "I made you toast."

Asi paused. Stared at him.

Then slowly, she tilted her head and blinked. "Alaz... toast makes me nauseous."

The color drained from his face in under a second.

"What?" he said, standing upright. "Shit, Asi, I didn't— I'm sorry, I thought— I mean, I read that it was bland so—"