Chapter 207: The Space Between Us

*Runze’s POV*

My chest tightens so hard it hurts to breathe.

Bael just stands there, his throat moving as he swallows, his hands still hanging limply at his sides. He doesn’t take a single step toward me.

He just waits.

I can’t keep looking at the red in his eyes. I drop my gaze to the floor, deliberately turning my head away, and slide right past him toward the wardrobe.

"...I’m going to change," I say in my low voice.

I open the dark wood drawer. I can feel Bael’s eyes on me... watching, waiting, saying nothing. His gaze stays fixed on my back, following every quiet movement as I untie the robe.

My fingers hover over several sets of sleepwear before settling on the pale grey cotton pajamas Bael had bought for me last time.

I pull the shirt over my shoulders and fasten the buttons one by one, my fingers moving slower than usual. I look back over my shoulder for a brief second. He’s still standing in the exact same spot near the bathroom frame, staring right at me without blinking.

I quickly turn back, finish buttoning the shirt, and walk around to my side of the bed.

I pull back the covers and climb in, sliding my legs under the duvet.

"...Let’s sleep," I say over my shoulder as I lie down on my side, turning my back toward his side of the bed.

"Oh..." Bael’s voice is soft, almost breathy. "...Okay."

The ground barely makes a sound under his bare feet. He moves closer to the bed, lifting his edge of the blanket to get in.

I turn my head on the pillow to look at him.

He’s still wearing his dark work trousers and his white dress shirt from the office. He joined us for dinner the moment he came home, and he hasn’t even unbuttoned his cuffs.

"...You’re not going to change?" I ask him.

Bael looks up, startled. His eyes are wide and slightly unfocused, clearly caught deep in his own head.

"Ah," he says, looking down at his chest as if just realizing what he has on. "I should."

I turn my head back and rest my cheek against the white linen pillow.

Bael gets out of bed and walks over to his wardrobe to change.

I look at his broad back as he reaches for a top.

"...Why don’t you take your bath while you’re at it?"

Bael pauses, his body going still. A sharp look flashes across his face—like he wants to say no right then and there. But his expression shifts quickly, his jaw relaxing, and he nods slowly instead.

"Hmm."

He takes the sweatpants he was holding, turns around, and moves toward the bathroom.

Phew. I let out a quiet breath, my chest finally relaxing into the mattress.

Barely three seconds after the bathroom door closes—

It opens again.

Bael looks out, his fingers gripping the edge of the door, his hair slightly wild.

"...Don’t... don’t go anywhere."

I blink, raising my head off the pillow to look at him.

"...I’m literally in bed. I’m no—" I start to say, but before I can even finish the sentence, Bael pulls his head back inside and shuts the door.

A faint exhale escapes my lips. I lay my head back down.

***

Just a few minutes later, the door handle turns.

Bael steps out of the bathroom with a white towel wrapped low around his waist. Water droplets sit on his chest and collarbones, trickling down his skin. He took a change of clothes in with him, but he walked right back out without putting them on.

My eyes meet his from the bed.

We look at each other for a few seconds. The room is quiet, the air between us completely still.

I avert my eyes first and close them.

Even with my eyes closed, I can hear every tiny movement in the room.

I hear the quick drag of cotton as he yanks his sweatpants up his legs right there in the middle of the floor, not even bothering to step into the closet. I hear the quiet, uneven thud of his bare feet against the floor as he walks around the foot of the bed. The bedframe gives a slight groan under his weight, the mattress sinking down behind my shoulders as he shifts onto his side.

My lungs lock in place. I clench my eyes shut until faint dark spots float behind my lids.

My body stiffens in place, bracing against the sheets. I hold my breath, every nerve along my spine tingling, waiting for the air behind me to shift.

I expect his arm to cross over to my side. I wait for his large hand to spread open over my hip, for his fingers to curl into the cotton of my shirt, for that familiar, forceful tug that pulls my back flush against his chest every night until there isn’t a single inch of air left between us.

I brace for the press of his forehead against the back of my neck, for the warm, steady rhythm of his chest pressing into my back.

Five seconds pass.

The blanket doesn’t move.

Ten seconds.

The cool air resting over my waist remains completely untouched.

The heat from his body is right there—radiating off him in waves, so close I can feel the warmth against the back of my neck—but no touch follows it. I can hear the shallow, carefully controlled rhythm of his breathing, tiny hitches catching in his throat as if he’s holding himself back with every ounce of strength he has left.

He is lying completely rigid on his side of the mattress. Careful. Distant. Treating the few inches of empty space between us like a physical boundary he isn’t allowed to cross.

Bael’s hands never come.

The silence stretches, wrapping around my chest until breathing feels like work.

My fingers slowly curl into the soft fabric of my pillowcase, digging into the cotton, bunching it tightly inside my fist until my knuckles ache against the linen.

I open my eyes.

The bedroom is shrouded in dim grey shadows.

I stare silently into the dark line of the wall ahead of me, listening to the sound of his suppressed breaths behind my back, feeling the empty space on the mattress press down on me far harder than any touch ever could.

He is so close... yet for the first time in months...

He doesn’t touch me.