It was next Sunday when it finally settled in, the way things had shifted.
Not drastically. Nothing loud or sharp. Just... a slow warmth that had crept in beneath the skin of our days, quiet and steady, like sunlight coming back after a long stretch of cloud.
Mark and I didn't talk about what happened that day beneath the trees, we didn't label anything, and there were no declarations or new rules set between us. But the way we moved around each other changed, slowly but surely.
We fell into something new. Or maybe something old, remembered.
We met in the hallway that morning just outside Edward's room. I'd brought a thermos of tea, one of the blends Liz had suggested that helped with nausea, and Mark was already there, leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed but not closed off.
He looked up when he saw me. "Morning."
It wasn't tentative. Just warm.
