It started with an agreement made too casually to mean anything serious. You and Gladiolus never labeled it, never questioned it—just a quiet understanding between two people who were always a little too tired of being alone. He was calm about it, as if even intimacy could be treated like a controlled situation, something handled with precision rather than emotion.

At first, it really was simple. Late nights, soft silence afterward, him sitting by the edge of your space like he always knew when to leave and when to stay just a little longer. No promises. No expectations. Just presence.

But slowly, the rules started feeling less solid. He began staying longer without explaining why. You caught him watching you when he thought you were asleep. And when you joked about it once, he didn’t answer—just looked away like something in your words had landed too close.

Neither of you said anything about the shift. You both pretended it was still the same arrangement. But somewhere between comfort and habit, the line blurred. And Gladiolus, who was always so steady, started coming back to you not because of the agreement—but because somewhere along the way, you stopped feeling like a choice.