Hazel didn't come home that night.
Well, she did. Technically. At midnight.
Michael heard the door click, soft steps across marble, the rustle of a jacket being hung. She tried to be quiet—respectful, even—but he was already awake, sitting on the couch in a pair of sweats he never wore in public, nursing a glass of wine he didn't even like.
She stepped into the living room, blinking at him in surprise. "You're up."
"You're late," he said simply.
Hazel gave him a casual shrug. "Had dinner with Maya. We got ice cream. Talked about shoes and love and life. You know, things humans do."
He didn't respond, just studied her face. Her flushed cheeks. Her sparkling eyes. The kind of glow you get from laughing too hard.
He hated how much he noticed.
"Why didn't you text?" he asked quietly.
She tilted her head. "I didn't think you'd care."
"I do."
That stopped her.
Michael stood and crossed the room slowly. "I know I'm not... easy to be married to."
Hazel raised an eyebrow. "That's the understatement of the year."
He huffed a soft laugh. "But I'm trying. You make me want to try."
Hazel's arms dropped from their crossed position, suddenly unsure of what to do with her hands. "Michael... are you okay?"
"No," he said honestly. "Not since you moved in."
She blinked. "Gee, thanks."
"I mean—" he paused, exhaled. "You're everywhere. You leave paint-stained mugs on the counter. You sing while brushing your teeth. You walk into my meetings to ask if a shirt makes you look like a cupcake—"
"It did. I was adorable."
"—and I haven't had a single moment of predictable peace since you arrived."
She stared at him, mouth parting slightly.
"But I don't hate it," he added softly.
Hazel blinked. Once. Twice. "You... don't?"
He shook his head. "I've spent years planning every hour of my day. Perfect routines. Perfect spaces. And then you show up like a storm in bunny slippers and nothing has been the same since."
She took a step closer. "Michael Graze. Was that a compliment disguised as an existential crisis?"
He cracked a genuine smile.
Her heart did something weird.
He reached into his pocket and pulled out a small velvet box.
Hazel's breath hitched. "Is that—?"
He opened it. Inside wasn't a ring. It was a delicate charm bracelet—silver, with one charm shaped like a tiny clover.
"For luck," he said. "You always say you bring chaos. I figured you could use balance."
Hazel stared at the charm, then at him.
"I'm not saying I love you," he added quickly. "Or even that I like you all the time. But I'm not indifferent anymore."
She took the box with trembling fingers.
Then, without thinking, she leaned up and kissed his cheek.
Just a second. Soft. Real.
"You're improving," she whispered.
Michael touched the spot where her lips had been, completely undone.
And maybe, for the first time…
he didn't want to be put back together...