Belle ca back quietly.
I heard her before I saw her, the soft rhythm of her steps crossing the floor, the faint rustle of fabric. When I turned my head, she was already there, frad in the doorway like she belonged in it.
She carried a large bowl in both hands, steam rising lazily from its surface. Two spoons and two forks were stuck inside at odd angles, like she hadn’t bothered deciding which utensil made more sense and chose all of them instead.
The sll hit a second later.
Noodles.
Rich broth.
Sothing savory and warm and impossibly comforting.
"You look too serious," she said, her voice calm but amused. "That’s not the face of soone about to be fed."
I huffed out a breath that might’ve been a laugh. "You brought weapons."
"Always," she replied smoothly, then stepped closer.
The mattress dipped as she sat beside , close enough that our shoulders brushed. She adjusted herself.
The black military coat she’d worn through the portal was gone, draped sowhere out of sight, and the sharp lines of her uniform had disappeared with it. In its place, she wore a black hoodie, soft and worn-in, the fabric loose around her shoulders and arms.
Matching trousers hung comfortably on her fra, practical but relaxed, like clothes chosen for existing rather than commanding.
Then she placed the bowl between us, right on the blanket, steady and confident like she trusted us not to spill it everywhere.
Inside was a generous portion of noodles, thick and pale, tangled together in glossy coils. Bits of vegetables peeked through, and sothing darker, probably at, rested beneath the surface. The steam fogged the air between us, carrying warmth straight into my chest.
For a mont, neither of us moved.
Then Belle picked up one of the forks and twirled it expertly, gathering noodles like she had done this a thousand tis. She lifted it, paused, then angled it toward .
"Open," she said.
I blinked. "What?"
She tilted her head slightly. "You heard ."
I stared at her for half a second, then complied, opening my mouth like an idiot. She guided the fork forward with infuriating precision, feeding without spilling a drop. The noodles were hot, flavorful, and perfect.
I chewed, trying very hard not to smile too much.
"Good?" she asked.
I nodded. "Dangerously so."
She humd in satisfaction and took a bite herself, switching utensils without thinking.
We ate like that for a while, trading bites back and forth, sotis feeding ourselves, sotis each other.
There was no pattern to it. No awkwardness either. Just an easy rhythm, like we’d always shared als this way.
At so point, I noticed how close we were.
Her thigh pressed lightly against mine. Her shoulder warm at my side. Every ti she leaned in to grab noodles, her sleeve brushed my arm. Every ti I reached for the bowl, our fingers nearly touched.
Once, they actually did.
Neither of us pulled away.
She laughed softly when I accidentally got broth on my lip, reaching up with her thumb to wipe it away before I could react. The touch was brief but unguarded, like she didn’t even think about it.
"You’re ssy," she said fondly.
"You’re feeding ," I replied. "This is on you."
She smiled at that. I couldn’t see her eyes, but I could hear it in her voice, feel it in the way her posture softened.
We talked between bites.
Nothing important.
Nothing heavy.
She told about the kitchen, about how the stove here ran too hot and nearly ruined the first batch.
I told her the hot chocolate was perfect, and she said she knew.
She ntioned Sacha, how she’d checked on her earlier and how the cub had imdiately demanded to know where I was.
"She said you were not allowed to hide," Belle added. "I agreed."
I laughed, leaning back slightly. Belle shifted with , naturally, until our shoulders pressed more firmly together. The blanket slid, and without comnt, she adjusted it so it covered us both more evenly.
Eventually, the bowl was half-empty.
I realized I hadn’t felt this... calm in a long ti.
Not alert.
Not coiled.
Just present.
Belle rested her head lightly against my shoulder, the blindfold brushing my collarbone. The contact sent a strange, gentle tension through . Not desire exactly. Sothing quieter. Sothing deeper.
I tilted my head slightly, resting it against hers.
She didn’t pull away.
We stayed like that, sharing noodles, sharing warmth, her humming returning softly under her breath. It felt intimate in a way that didn’t demand labels. Like we were borrowing a mont from a future that hadn’t decided whether it was real yet.
After a while, the bowl was mostly empty, forgotten between us.
Belle sighed contentedly and shifted, curling her legs slightly beneath her. Her shoulder pressed more fully into mine now. I could feel the steady rhythm of her breathing.
"Sebastian," she said quietly.
"Yeah?"
"You’re thinking very loudly."
I swallowed.
She always did that. Always knew.
I reached out before I could overthink it.
Gently, carefully, I took her right hand in both of mine. Her fingers were warm, calloused in places I recognized. She paused, then let guide her hands upward until they rested just below my face.
The movent made her straighten slightly. I could feel her attention sharpen, the easy warmth shifting into sothing more focused.
She tilted her head, blindfold facing .
"Is sothing wrong?" she asked.
I didn’t answer imdiately.
I held her hands there, thumbs brushing lightly over her knuckles, grounding myself in the reality of her presence. When I spoke, my voice was steady, serious in a way I rarely allowed myself to be.
"Belle," I said.
She went very still.
"Yes?"
I looked at her blindfold. At the strip of black that had always been there. That had hidden her gaze from the world, and maybe from herself.
"Take off your blindfold," I said.
The words hung between us.
I could almost see the questionmarks hanging in the air, unseen.
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