Page 116 of Thexan

I swallowed, suddenly aware of how little space separated us. “And what does it represent?”

His gaze held mine, steady and unguarded in the only way Thexan could be unguarded.

“Permanence,” he said. “Not as a biological fact of the bond, but as a life deliberately constructed around it.”

I pressed my hand over his where it rested against my face.

“That may be the most romantic thing you’ve ever said about home repairs.”

“It was not intended as humor.”

“I know.” My voice softened. “That’s why it worked.”

Something shifted in his expression, subtle but real, and the bond carried the quiet satisfaction he would probably never have named on his own. I loved that about him more than I could explain. He didn’t always understand why his words reached me, but he cared that they did. He adjusted. He learned. He tried.

And because of that, the future no longer felt like a weight I had to carry alone.

I looked around the room again, seeing what he had seen, but through a different lens now. The bed could be replaced. The table could be moved. The storage could be reorganized, though I suspected Thexan’s definition of noncritical supplies and mine would not match at first. The room would still be close to the infirmary. People would still knock at inconvenient hours. I would still be tired more often than I admitted, and he would still point that out in ways that made me want to argue and kiss him in equal measure.

It would not be easy.

But for the first time, I could picture it.

Not just survival.

Life.

“You know,” I said, glancing at the bed, “if we’re going to make this space work, the first thing we need is somewhere you can sleep without looking like you’re folded in half.”

“I can adapt.”

“You always say that.”

“It is usually accurate.”

“It is not an acceptable long-term furniture plan.”

He considered that seriously. “Agreed.”

I laughed softly. He watched the sound happen with the same fascinated attention he always gave my amusement, as though every laugh taught him something he intended to remember.

I stepped closer, sliding my arms around him carefully because the wound was healing but not forgotten. He adjusted to me at once, his hands settling at my waist, strong and steady, giving me the freedom to move while making it obvious he preferred that I did not.

“I suppose we’ll need to talk to Tanner about lumber,” I said.

“Yes.”

“And probably Callie, because if I move supplies without telling her, she’ll rearrange them behind my back.”

“That would create inefficiency.”

“It would create a feud.”

“Then we will consult her.”

I smiled against him. “Look at you. Learning community politics.”

“I am motivated.”