Aqua’s POV
“Aqua…”
My eyes opened.
For a moment, I did not move.
The room was still dark enough that morning had barely begun touching the curtains.
Fang was curled near the foot of the bed.
The house was quiet.
Steven was pressed against me.
His head rested against my chest, one arm wrapped around my waist beneath the blanket. At some point during the night, he had shifted closer until there was almost no space left between us.
His brow tightened.
“Aqua…”
My heart squeezed.
He was asleep.
I looked down at him.
His fingers moved against my side.
Searching.
I covered his hand with mine.
“I’m here.”
His fingers stopped.
The tension between his eyebrows eased almost immediately.
Then his arm tightened around me.
I swallowed.
Steven had always done things like this.
Even before the wedding.
Before Worthington became home.
Before Salizar had ever worn his face.
If I moved too far away while he slept, Steven somehow found me again.
A hand at my waist.
His knee against mine.
His forehead pressed into my shoulder.
Sometimes my name, barely spoken.
I used to tease him about it.
He denied everything.
Usually while actively holding me.
My mouth curved.
I ran my fingers gently through his hair.
He breathed against me.
Slow.
Steady.
There was something almost painful about how familiar it felt.
For several days, someone else had slept beside me in this body.
Someone else had opened Steven’s eyes.
Smiled with Steven’s mouth.
Touched me with Steven’s hands.
I hated that thought.
I hated that it could still arrive so quickly.
But this—
Steven whispering my name without knowing he had done it.
Steven searching for me while unconscious.
Steven relaxing because I answered.
There was no performance here.
No carefully constructed version of my husband.
No confidence arranged to make me believe something had changed.
Just Steven.
My Steven.
I bent and kissed his hair.
His arm tightened again.
“Comfy?” I whispered.
No answer.
I smiled.
“You’re very clingy when you’re unconscious.”
Nothing.
“Convenient time to ignore me.”
His breathing remained even.
I rested my cheek against his hair.
For a little while, I let myself stay there.
Steven woke almost an hour later.
I felt it before I saw it.
His breathing changed.
His hand tightened once against my waist.
Then loosened.
His head lifted.
His eyes moved quickly.
Ceiling.
Window.
Door.
Fang.
Me.
His body went rigid.
Only for a second.
Then he exhaled.
“Morning.”
His voice was rough with sleep.
“Morning.”
He blinked at where he was.
Then at the arm still wrapped around me.
“You trapped me.”
I stared at him.
“I trapped you?”
“You appear to have me surrounded.”
“With one arm?”
“I’m vulnerable.”
My eyebrows rose.
His mouth twitched.
There he was.
I touched his cheek.
Steven leaned into my palm before he seemed to realize he was doing it.
Then his gaze dropped toward my hand.
Something changed.
Small.
Barely there.
He did not pull away.
But I saw the thought.
I had begun noticing those.
“Did you sleep?” I asked.
“Some.”
“That means no.”
“I slept.”
“You woke up three times.”
His eyebrows drew together.
“You were awake?”
“Sometimes.”
“Why?”
“Because my husband kept trying to crawl inside my rib cage.”
He stared at me.
“I did not.”
“You did.”
“I was asleep. I cannot be held responsible for sleeping behavior.”
“You said my name.”
That stopped him.
“What?”
“In your sleep.”
His expression changed.
“What did I say?”
“Just my name.”
“Oh.”
His eyes dropped.
“You relaxed when I answered.”
He was quiet.
Then, instead of moving away, Steven settled his head against me again.
Only for a moment.
“I guess I knew you were there.”
My throat tightened.
“You did.”
Fang’s head rose from the foot of the bed.
Steven looked toward him.
“Were you watching me too?”
Fang blinked.
Steven sighed.
“This house has no privacy.”
I laughed.
The sound surprised me.
Not because I had forgotten how.
Because it came easily.
Steven looked at me.
Then he smiled too.
Fredrick had forbidden training.
Steven lasted until breakfast before trying to find a loophole.
“Walking isn’t training.”
“No.”
“Stretching?”
“I doubt it.”
“Basic exercises?”
I looked at him.
He took another bite of toast.
“I asked a question.”
“You are looking for the exact point where Fredrick would appear through a portal and threaten you.”
“That would answer the question.”
“Steven.”
Support creative writers by reading their stories on Royal Road, not stolen versions.
“I’m bored.”
“It has been one morning.”
“I know.”
He pushed his plate away slightly.
“But I’ve been training almost every day since I got here.”
I paused.
Steven rubbed his thumb along the edge of his cup.
“If I wasn’t training, Dylan had me working on something else. Stance. Focus. Control. Something.”
His mouth twisted.
“I’m not used to waking up and having absolutely nothing I’m supposed to do.”
That made more sense.
Unfortunately, it did not make Fredrick’s restrictions disappear.
“Fredrick told you yesterday that your core still wasn’t stable.”
The humor left Steven’s face.
Too quickly.
I regretted the sentence the second I saw it.
He looked down at his plate.
“I know.”
My chest tightened.
“I didn’t mean it like that.”
“No.”
His thumb moved against the cup.
“You’re right.”
“I can be right and still say it badly.”
His mouth moved faintly.
“Fredrick would disagree.”
“That is because Fredrick enjoys being unpleasant.”
“I think he thinks it’s efficient.”
“That sounds worse.”
A small laugh escaped him.
The tension eased.
I reached for the jam.
Steven reached at the same time.
Our fingers brushed.
His hand moved back.
Too quickly.
Not a jerk.
Not fear.
Just faster than it should have.
“Sorry.”
I looked at him.
He had already reached for his cup as though nothing happened.
Steven had touched me thousands of times.
Bumped shoulders with me.
Taken food off my plate.
Put a hand around my waist when he walked behind me.
Caught my face between his hands when he wanted me to listen.
He had never apologized for touching my fingers near a jar of jam.
I slid it toward him.
“Here.”
“Thanks.”
He kept his eyes on the table.
I said nothing.
We went outside after breakfast.
Steven called it walking.
I called it keeping him away from household chores before he decided lifting furniture counted as recovery.
Fang followed behind us through the grass.
The morning air was warm.
Steven walked with both hands in his pockets.
I noticed after several minutes.
That was different too.
He had always touched things when he walked.
Branches.
Fences.
My shoulder.
My hand.
Now his hands stayed hidden.
I kept mine at my sides.
We reached the edge of the property where the trees thickened.
Steven stopped.
I looked at him.
His breathing was slightly heavier.
“Tired?”
“No.”
I waited.
He glanced at me.
“Maybe a little.”
“Then we go back.”
“I can keep going.”
“I know.”
The answer made him pause.
I could almost see the argument forming.
The old version of Steven would have kept going.
Pushed harder.
Waited until I noticed something was wrong.
Then insisted he was fine until neither of us believed him.
He looked toward the trees.
Then back toward the house.
“Can we go back?”
Warmth moved through my chest.
“Yes.”
We turned.
Halfway home, my hand brushed his.
His fingers twitched.
Almost curled around mine.
Then stopped.
A second later, Steven bent and picked up a fallen stick.
I looked at him.
He examined it with far too much concentration.
“What?”
“Nothing.”
He tossed it toward the trees.
Fang slid around it without interest.
Steven glanced sideways at me.
“You’re doing that thing.”
“What thing?”
“Looking at me.”
“I like looking at you.”
His eyes narrowed.
“That answer is suspicious.”
I smiled.
We kept walking.
That night, Steven could not sleep.
I knew because he had changed position seven times.
I counted.
I did not reach for him.
Everything in me wanted to.
But I remembered what I had told him.
If he needed space, he could tell me.
If he wanted me, I wanted him to choose that too.
So I stayed close.
Not touching.
Waiting.
Another minute passed.
“Aqua?”
“Hmm?”
“Are you awake?”
“No.”
Silence.
Then—
“Very funny.”
I smiled into the dark.
“What?”
Another pause.
“Can you come here?”
My smile faded.
Not because I disliked the question.
Because of how quietly he asked it.
I turned toward him.
Steven was already facing me.
I moved closer.
His arm came around my waist almost immediately.
His face settled near my neck.
His entire body changed.
Not dramatically.
But I felt the tension slowly leave him.
My fingers moved into his hair.
“There?”
I whispered.
“Yeah.”
A few minutes later, he was asleep.
I stayed awake longer.
Listening.
Thinking.
During the day, Steven measured the space between us.
At night, he forgot to.
That told me more than anything else could have.
He was not afraid of me.
He was afraid of what his hands might make me remember.
That hurt.
Because sometimes they did.
Not often.
But enough.
A hand settling at a certain angle.
A smile that lasted a little too long before Steven looked away.
A moment of confidence that arrived unexpectedly.
Sometimes my body reacted before my mind caught up.
A tightening in my stomach.
A flash of the lake.
The café.
A towel.
A mouth I had believed belonged to my husband.
Then Steven would say something ridiculous.
Or cuddle closer.
Or apologize for something no one else would apologize for.
And I knew him again.
I hated that there were memories I could not sort cleanly.
Some I hated because they had been lies.
Others bothered me for a different reason.
Because before I knew they were lies—
I had been happy.
Salizar had seemed more certain.
More direct.
Less afraid of wanting me.
I had liked those things because I thought Steven had finally stopped hiding them.
That did not mean I wanted Salizar.
It did not.
I knew that.
I only wished knowing it made those memories easier to separate.
Maybe what I had liked was never the man pretending to be Steven.
Maybe I had liked believing Steven had finally stopped being afraid of parts of himself.
I did not know yet.
The thought felt too tangled to touch.
So I looked down at my husband asleep against me.
His arm tightened around my waist.
And I let the question wait.
By the second day, Steven was losing his battle with boredom.
“I have an idea,” I said.
He looked up from where he sat outside with Fang.
“No.”
“I didn’t say anything.”
“You said you had an idea.”
“Yes.”
“I know you.”
“That is rude.”
“It is experience.”
I placed a folded mat on the grass.
Steven stared at it.
Then at me.
“What is that?”
“A mat.”
“I can see that.”
“Good. Your eyesight is recovering.”
His eyes narrowed.
I smiled.
“We’re stretching.”
“That sounds suspiciously like training.”
“It is stretching.”
“With intent.”
“All stretching has intent.”
“That sounds philosophical.”
“Sit.”
Steven looked toward Fang.
“Help me.”
Fang lowered his head onto the grass.
“Traitor.”
I sat.
Steven eventually joined me.
“We’re breathing first.”
He stared at me.
“I know how to breathe.”
“I know.”
“That sounded insulting anyway.”
I smiled.
“Your breathing is fine.”
His eyebrows rose.
“Generous.”
“Your focus isn’t.”
“Excuse me?”
“You know how to breathe when you’re trying to settle your power.”
“I do.”
“This is different.”
I tapped the mat.
“You’re supposed to let your body and your mind slow down together.”
Steven looked deeply suspicious.
“So meditation.”
“With stretching.”
“That sounds worse.”
“Sit properly.”
“I am sitting properly.”
“You’re slouching.”
“I’m recovering.”
I laughed.
We started slowly.
Breathing.
Stretching.
Moving carefully enough that even Fredrick would have difficulty calling it training.
I hoped.
I had not tested that argument on Fredrick.
Steven followed the first few stretches with only mild complaints.
Then I extended one leg and leaned forward.
Steven attempted the same.
Stopped.
Looked at me.
Looked at his leg.
“No.”
I blinked.
“No?”
“My body rejected that.”
“You haven’t moved.”
“Exactly. Excellent instincts.”
I laughed.
“Your leg goes there.”
Steven stared at me.
“My leg has filed an objection.”
“You aren’t even stretching yet.”
“Then this feels unnecessarily threatening.”
I laughed harder.
Fang lifted his head.
Steven pointed at him.
“Don’t.”
Fang tilted his head.
“You’re judging me.”
His tail flicked.
Steven looked offended.
“He is.”
“You cannot prove that.”
“I know Fang.”
His tail flicked again.
I covered my mouth.
Steven looked at both of us.
“You’re terrible.”
“You love us.”
“That is unrelated.”
I smiled.
For almost twenty minutes, Steven complained.
I corrected him.
Fang judged him.
And nothing terrible happened.
No heat from the necklace.
No pressure from the seals.
No voice.
No takeover.
No crisis.
Steven laughed when I nearly lost my balance.
I shoved his shoulder.
He caught my wrist automatically.
The moment happened so quickly neither of us prepared for it.
His hand wrapped around me.
Warm.
Secure.
Normal.
Steven’s smile faded.
His eyes dropped toward his fingers.
I felt him begin to loosen them.
So I rotated my wrist and threaded my fingers through his.
He looked at me.
I said nothing.
For several seconds, neither did he.
Then his grip tightened.
Just slightly.
I smiled.
Steven looked away.
“You almost fell.”
“I did not.”
“You did.”
“I corrected.”
“You windmilled your arms.”
“I did not.”
“You absolutely did.”
I squeezed his hand.
He squeezed back.
Day three was easier.
Not easy.
I was learning there was a difference.
Steven ate breakfast without me reminding him.
He slept until morning.
He complained that Fang had taken too much of the blanket despite Fang spending most of the night at the foot of the bed.
He followed me into the kitchen and stole a piece of fruit from the cutting board.
I smacked his hand.
He looked offended.
“That was mine.”
“You took it from my cutting board.”
“I saw no label.”
“It was beside my knife.”
“A dangerous storage choice.”
I fought a smile.
“Get your own.”
“I did.”
“You stole mine.”
“Acquired.”
“Steven.”
He grinned.
There he was.
Then I reached around him for another piece.
Our arms brushed.
Steven stepped aside too quickly.
The grin stayed.
But his hand disappeared into his pocket.
My smile faded after he turned away.
He thought I did not see it.
I saw everything.
The things he did without thinking.
The things he stopped himself from doing once he realized.
He leaned into me when he was tired.
Sat farther away when he was fully awake.
Reached for my hand when something made him laugh.
Then remembered himself.
Sometimes his fingers stopped an inch from my waist.
I did not know if he understood how often.
I did.
That afternoon, I found him outside with Fang beside him.
The necklace rested against his chest.
His hand lay near it.
Not touching.
I sat beside him.
“Anything?”
Steven looked at me.
“No.”
“Heat?”
“No.”
“Pressure?”
“No.”
“Movement?”
“No.”
“Voice?”
“No.”
“Anything strange?”
He looked down at Fang.
“Fang has been staring at me for ten minutes.”
Fang slowly turned his head toward him.
I smiled.
“That is not new.”
“I think he’s monitoring me.”
“He probably is.”
“See?”
Fang flicked his tail.
Steven sighed.
“I liked him better when I could pretend he wasn't judgmental.”
I leaned back on my hands.
For a little while, we watched the trees.
Then Steven said quietly,
“I thought I’d be happier.”
I turned.
“About what?”
“Him being quiet.”
My stomach tightened.
“You’re not?”
“I am.”
He rubbed his thumb against his palm.
“It’s just strange.”
“Knowing he’s still there?”
Steven nodded.
“I know the seals are holding.”
His eyes dropped toward the necklace.
“I know Fredrick said he can’t take control.”
He swallowed.
“But it’s like having a locked room in your house and knowing someone is standing on the other side.”
I understood.
More than I wanted to.
“Do you want him to talk?”
Steven frowned.
“No.”
Then paused.
“I don't think so.”
I waited.
“I just…”
His expression tightened.
“I don’t know.”
“That is allowed.”
He looked at me.
“I hate that answer.”
“I know.”
“It sounds like Fredrick.”
“That is cruel.”
Steven laughed.
A little.
Then his expression softened.
“I’m glad he’s quiet.”
“I am too.”
Steven looked at me for another second.
Then his hand moved.
Slowly.
He rested it on my knee.
I looked down.
He followed my gaze.
His hand went still.
I covered it with mine before he could move it.
Steven looked toward the trees.
Neither of us said anything.
His hand stayed.
That night, he reached for me first.
No question.
No hesitation.
Steven rolled toward me, slid an arm around my waist, and pulled me against him.
I smiled into the pillow.
“You’re stealing me.”
“I’m borrowing you.”
“For how long?”
“Until morning.”
“That sounds less like borrowing.”
He tucked his face against my shoulder.
“Go to sleep.”
I laughed quietly.
“Bossy.”
“Exhausted.”
I covered his hand with mine.
He fell asleep first.
Again.
I stayed awake.
Sometimes I still watched his face too carefully.
Every small shift.
Every tightening of his brow.
Every silence that lasted one second longer than expected.
There were moments when fear arrived before reason.
I hated that.
But Steven was not the only one learning how to exist inside our marriage again.
I was too.
Trust had not disappeared.
It had been hurt.
There was a difference.
Each quiet day seemed to teach my body something my heart already knew.
He was here.
On the fourth morning, Steven made breakfast.
I came downstairs and found him in the kitchen.
Fang lay near the doorway.
Steven had somehow used three pans for a meal that needed one.
I stopped.
“What happened?”
He looked over his shoulder.
“Breakfast.”
“Why are there three pans?”
“One was wrong.”
“How is a pan wrong?”
“I don’t want to discuss it.”
I walked closer.
Something smelled slightly burnt.
Steven noticed my expression.
“It is edible.”
“I didn’t say anything.”
“You were thinking loudly.”
I smiled.
He turned back toward the stove.
I reached around him for a plate.
Steven shifted behind me.
For the last three days, I had watched him walk around me whenever we shared a narrow space.
Extra step.
Small adjustment.
A little more distance than necessary.
This time—
his hand landed at my waist.
Lightly.
Naturally.
Just enough to guide himself behind me.
He kept walking.
I froze.
Steven made it two steps.
Then stopped.
His shoulders tightened.
Slowly, he looked back.
I was staring at him.
“What?”
“Nothing.”
His eyes narrowed.
“You’re doing it again.”
“Doing what?”
“Looking at me.”
“I told you. I like looking at you.”
“That explanation remains suspicious.”
I smiled.
Steven looked down at his hand.
Then back at me.
He knew.
I knew he knew.
His mouth opened.
Probably to apologize.
I pointed toward the stove.
“Your breakfast.”
He turned.
“Right.”
Something started smoking.
“Steven.”
“I see it.”
He moved quickly toward the pan.
I laughed.
He glared over his shoulder.
“Not helpful.”
“You used three pans.”
“Two now.”
“That does not make it better.”
He grabbed the handle.
I watched him.
My smile stayed long after the smoke disappeared.
I did not tell him why.
He did not need me turning every touch into proof that he was recovering.
It was only his hand on my waist.
Something he had done hundreds of times.
That was what made it matter.
The rest of the morning remained ordinary.
Steven complained about breakfast.
I ate it anyway.
Fang refused the piece Steven offered him.
Steven called him ungrateful.
We went outside.
The sun warmed the back of my neck.
Steven stretched without arguing quite as much.
He still claimed one position had been designed by someone who hated knees.
I told him he was improving.
He accused me of lying to encourage him.
I told him encouragement was part of marriage.
He said deception was not.
I threw grass at him.
For a while, we were just us.
That was becoming easier.
Later, as we walked toward the house, Steven’s hand brushed mine.
I expected the hesitation.
There was one.
Small.
Then his fingers curled around mine.
I looked down.
Steven noticed.
“What?”
“Nothing.”
“You’ve said that several times this week.”
“Maybe nothing keeps happening.”
“That makes no sense.”
“I know.”
His thumb moved once across the back of my hand.
He did not let go.
Neither did I.
We came in through the back door still holding hands.
Fang slipped past us first.
I had barely closed the door when green light flickered across the narrow table behind the sofa.
Steven stopped.
His fingers tightened around mine.
“Fredrick.”
“Probably.”
“Maybe he sent us a gift.”
I looked at him.
“Fredrick?”
“Good point.”
We crossed the room.
A folded piece of parchment rested where the green light had faded.
I picked it up.
Steven leaned beside me while I unfolded it.
The handwriting was exactly what I expected.
Short.
Direct.
Fredrick wanted us at Worth Manor the following morning.
He intended to reassess Steven’s core.
The seals.
Fang’s bond.
Steven read over my shoulder.
“He’s going to poke at my core again.”
“Probably.”
“Wonderful.”
“You survived the first time.”
“Barely.”
“He asked permission.”
“That does not make his hand less unsettlingly green.”
I folded the parchment.
Steven looked toward the window.
Something moved across his face.
Hope.
Nerves.
Maybe both.
“If everything is stable…”
“We ask about Atlantis.”
He nodded.
Home.
My family.
Everything waiting there.
My husband beside me.
If Fredrick allowed it.
Steven glanced at me.
“You’re thinking.”
“So are you.”
“That is different.”
“How?”
“I was going to complain about Fredrick.”
I smiled.
Then I realized he was still holding my hand.
Steven seemed to notice too.
His eyes dropped.
For one small moment, I waited for his fingers to loosen.
They did not.
Instead, he lifted our joined hands slightly.
“What?”
I blinked.
“Nothing.”
His eyes narrowed.
“That again.”
I smiled.
He shook his head.
But his thumb brushed mine.
And we walked farther into the house together.
There was still space between us sometimes.
I noticed every inch.
The half-second hesitation.
The hand that stopped before reaching me.
The careful step around my body when once he would have touched my waist without thinking.
I noticed because I loved him.
But I noticed something else too.
The spaces were getting smaller.
And today, Steven had crossed one without being asked.