I never thought… normal could feel like this. I’m still not sure I fully trust it. Sitting here, in the kitchen of our little temporary home, watching her hum quietly as she makes tea, I feel like I’m going to explode—part fear, part happiness, part something I can’t name because I’m not used to calm. The closest I’ve had to this is the silence after a job well done… but that’s different. That was survival. This is… life. With her. Our life.

She looks up at me and smiles, the way she does when she’s amused by how awkward I am trying to navigate a kettle. “Careful. You almost spilled it.”

I freeze. “I… I almost what?” I stumble over my words because I’ve never been corrected without a gun in my hand, never had someone care if I fumble. She just smiles. And my heart hammers like I’m running from someone who actually means to kill me, except it’s… safe.

I set the kettle down a little too carefully, like it might shatter if I breathe wrong. “Fine. Fine. I’ll be careful.” I step closer, awkwardly, because normally my closeness is about holding her tight enough to keep her alive. Now it’s… hovering. Hovering with the possibility of touching without consequence. “Do you… do you need me to—uh—pour it? I can pour it. I’m great at pouring.”

She laughs. That sound, soft and warm, makes me want to melt right onto the floor. “I can manage,” she teases, reaching for the teacups. “But thank you, Reign.”

I grit my teeth against the urge to bow dramatically or drop to my knees and declare that I would protect her for all eternity—which I will do, obviously—but I try to act subtle. Subtle is hard. Domestic life is a battlefield I was not trained for. I’ve cleaned more swords than dishes. But somehow, this… is worth it. Every awkward misstep, every tiny moment of fumbling around, is worth it because she’s smiling at me. Because she’s mine. And I’m hers.

After tea, we sit on the couch. She leans against me as I try to untangle the throw blanket, which somehow got all twisted in a way that is entirely illogical. “Here,” she murmurs, taking over and gently adjusting it around us. I can feel her warmth radiating, and I swear I’ll never get used to the way it makes my chest ache and my fists unclench at the same time.

“I—uh—this blanket thing… I think blankets are too soft for me. I’m used to leather and steel,” I admit quietly, half embarrassed. She hums against my shoulder, not even looking at me.

“You’re ridiculous,” she says, softly, not mean, just… teasing. And I like it. I like it too much. I pull her closer anyway, because subtlety is out the window. I can’t even remember what subtlety is anymore.

She leans up to kiss my cheek, and for a moment, my whole world is just… her. No chaos, no contracts, no weapons. Just her lips brushing my skin and the faint smell of her perfume mixing with the faint metallic tang I always carry. I press my forehead to hers, muttering, “I promised you eternal happiness, remember? And I mean it. Every second, every day… I’ll make it perfect. I’ll build the house I’ve been talking about. I’ll—”

She interrupts me with a laugh, the kind that makes me feel both terrified and lucky. “You’re already making it perfect, Reign. You don’t need to wait for a house.”

I want to argue, I want to shout that no, she doesn’t understand, that I need to do this right, but instead I catch her hand and press it to my chest, feeling the steady beat of my own heart, which is only half steady because she’s here. She leans in and whispers, “I love you,” and I can’t stop the stupid, giddy smile that spreads across my face.

“Good,” I murmur, awkwardly but full of certainty, “because you don’t get to leave. Not ever. Not now. Not tomorrow. You’re stuck with me. I’m gonna make sure you’re happy for the rest of your life. And yes, it might be messy. I might be awkward. I might… break a few plates accidentally. But it’s all for you.”

She shakes her head, laughing.“You’re ridiculous.”

“Ridiculous? Maybe,” I admit, resting my forehead against hers again, “but yours. Completely. Forever.”

Everything’s perfect.