The next morning felt different.
Quieter.
Not fragile — just settled.
Leah was still in bed when Izana began moving her things.
She noticed it first by sound.
Drawers opening.
Closet doors sliding.
The soft thud of boxes being set down.
She pushed herself up slightly against the pillows, still weak but steadier than yesterday.
"What are you doing?" she asked, voice still faint but clearer.
Izana didn't turn around immediately.
"Moving your things."
She blinked.
"You're doing it yourself?"
"Yes."
"You have people for that."
"I don't want people touching your things."
The simplicity of that made her chest warm.
He carried in another small box and set it carefully near the wardrobe.
She frowned slightly.
"That's… all of it."
He paused.
"…Yes."
The room felt larger than the belongings now sitting in one corner.
A travel bag.
Two boxes.
That was it.
Izana opened the travel bag.
Neatly folded inside were a few dresses. Two pairs of worn trousers. A handful of shirts. Undergarments tucked carefully into a side compartment.
That was all.
His expression didn't change outwardly.
But something shifted behind his eyes.
"This is everything?" he asked quietly.
Leah looked away.
"I don't need much."
"That wasn't the question."
She hesitated.
"Yes."
Silence.
He stood slowly and walked to his own wardrobe.
Without hesitation, he began removing his clothes.
Shirts first. Jackets. A stack of folded trousers.
He set them aside on a chair.
Leah blinked.
"What are you doing?"
"Making space."
"You don't have to."
"Yes, I do."
He cleared nearly half the wardrobe before turning back to her small stack of clothing.
He folded each piece again carefully — more neatly than before — and placed them inside.
Side by side.
As if they had always belonged there.
"You didn't bring much," he said quietly.
She tried to sound casual.
"I didn't think I'd stay long."
The words lingered in the air.
He didn't respond to that.
Instead, he closed the wardrobe gently.
"When you're better," he said calmly, "we're going shopping."
Her eyes lit up instantly.
"Really?"
"Yes."
Her excitement was immediate — soft but genuine.
"I haven't been shopping in—." She stopped herself.
Her expression shifted.
The light faded.
Izana noticed immediately.
"What's wrong?"
"Nothing."
"Leah."
She hesitated, then exhaled quietly.
"I don't have money."
The words were quiet.
Careful.
"I can't just—." She gestured vaguely toward the wardrobe. "I can't just let you buy me things."
He looked at her for a long moment.
"You're living here."
"That doesn't mean—."
"It does."
She frowned faintly.
"I don't want to be dependent."
"You're not."
"It feels like it."
He walked back toward the bed.
"You are not dependent," he repeated calmly. "You are with me."
"That's different."
"No."
He knelt slightly so they were at eye level.
"You are not here as a burden. You are not here as someone I'm responsible for out of obligation."
Her throat tightened.
"You are here because I chose you."
The room fell quiet.
"And I don't keep track of what I spend on the people I choose," he added.
Her eyes stung faintly.
"I don't want you thinking I'm using you."
His jaw tightened slightly.
"Do you think that's how I see you?"
"No."
"Then stop."
She looked down at her hands.
"It's just… I've always had to take care of myself."
"I know."
"And I don't know how to let someone else do that."
His expression softened.
"Then learn."
She looked up.
"With you?"
"Yes."
Silence.
Then slowly—
"Okay."
He stood again.
"You'll pick what you want."
"And if it's expensive?"
"I don't care."
"You say that now."
"I mean it."
She smiled faintly.
Then—
He coughed.
It was slight.
Barely noticeable.
But she heard it.
Her head snapped up immediately.
"Izana."
"I'm fine."
"You just coughed."
"Yes."
Her eyes narrowed slightly.
"…You're not getting sick."
He tilted his head faintly.
"Maybe I stole it."
She stared at him.
"That's not funny."
"I warned you."
She crossed her arms slightly.
"You're impossible."
"And you're dramatic."
But before he could say anything else—
A sharp pulse burned across his chest.
Subtle.
Quick.
But enough to make his breath hitch slightly.
The carved word beneath his skin flared faintly — irritated.
Unhappy.
Too much closeness.
Too much attachment.
He ignored it.
Then warmth rushed upward.
Too fast.
He turned slightly away just as something warm slipped past his lip.
A thin line of red.
Leah's eyes widened instantly.
"Izana."
"It's nothing."
"That is not nothing."
He lifted his hand calmly and wiped beneath his nose.
Red streaked across his fingers.
Her heartbeat spiked.
"You're bleeding."
"It happens."
"That doesn't make it normal!"
He moved toward the bathroom without urgency.
"Izana—."
"Stay in bed."
She ignored him and swung her legs over the side.
The room tilted slightly.
He turned instantly.
"Leah."
"I'm not just going to sit there—."
"You will."
His tone wasn't sharp.
But it was firm.
She steadied herself against the bed.
He sighed softly and walked back toward her instead.
"Sit."
She reluctantly obeyed.
He grabbed a cloth from the nearby drawer and pressed it lightly beneath his nose.
"It's a side effect," he said calmly.
"Of what?"
He didn't answer immediately.
She knew anyway.
"The curse."
"Yes."
Her chest tightened.
"It's because of me."
"No."
"You said it reacts when—."
"It reacts to attachment," he finished evenly. "Not you."
"That's worse."
He almost smiled faintly.
"I'm used to it."
"You shouldn't have to be."
He shrugged lightly.
"It's manageable."
Blood seeped lightly against the cloth before slowing.
Her fingers clenched in the blanket.
"You should rest."
"I am."
"You're bleeding."
"It will stop."
She watched him carefully.
"You're not dizzy?"
"No."
"Lightheaded?"
"No."
"Lying?"
"Yes."
She glared at him.
He gave a faint exhale — almost amused.
"It's minor."
She didn't look convinced.
He stepped closer again once the bleeding slowed and gently brushed his thumb across her cheek.
"Don't stress."
"I'm not."
"You are."
"I'm allowed to worry about you."
"And I'm allowed to handle this."
Her voice softened.
"I don't like that it hurts you."
"It's not you."
"But it's because of us."
He held her gaze steadily.
"Then I'll endure it."
Her throat tightened.
"You shouldn't have to endure loving someone."
He didn't answer that.
Instead, he pressed a gentle kiss to her forehead.
"You're still recovering," he murmured. "Don't make yourself worse."
She watched him carefully.
"And if you get worse?"
"I won't."
"You don't know that."
He gave a faint, almost teasing look.
"If I collapse, you can hover."
Despite everything, she let out a small breath of laughter.
"Idiot."
"Probably."
He sat beside her again once the bleeding had fully stopped.
Close.
Not touching — but near enough.
The wardrobe behind him now held both of their things.
Side by side.
The curse simmered faintly beneath his skin.
Unhappy.
Restless.
But he ignored it.
Because when Leah reached out weakly and rested her hand over his heart—
He chose that feeling instead.