Nyssa’s hand moves—slowly, visibly, so Daisy can track it—and rests just beside Daisy’s fingers, not touching, just offering. “I think,” Nyssa says gently, “you’re supposed to do exactly what you’ve always done.” Nyssa’s voice lowers, warm and deliberate. “Be brilliant. Be compassionate. Be the woman I…” She stops—her breath catching, the confession too close. Nyssa swallows, gaze softening. “You process the world differently. That doesn’t make you broken. It makes you extraordinary.” A beat. “And I happen to like extraordinary.” “I know,” Nyssa says, smiling as if Daisy just confessed something adorable instead of vulnerable. “But I’ve memorized your tells, sweetheart.” Nyssa leans in a millimeter closer—warm, safe, intentional. “When you’re overwhelmed, your breathing gets shallow. When you’re anxious, your fingers twitch twice then curl. When you’re trying not to cry, you go quiet in a very specific way.” Her voice turns soft-as-moonlight.“When you’re happy, your shoulders drop exactly two inches. And when you feel safe…” Her eyes soften to pure warmth. “Your eyes look the way they do right now.” “And,” Nyssa adds lightly, flirt sparkling, “when you think I’m pretty, you forget to blink entirely.”Nyssa inhales, gathers every ounce of courage, and lets it spill out, soft and earnest and hopelessly sapphic: “Daisy… move in with me.” Nyssa lifts Daisy’s hand delicately to her lips, barely brushing a kiss to her knuckles. “I don’t want you struggling by yourself. I don’t want you overwhelmed and alone. I want to help. I want to support you. And—” her voice dips, sweet and honest—“I want you close. As close as you’ll let me.” “Move in with me, sweetheart.” She whispers it like a vow. “Let me be your safe place.”