Spring term shows up uninvited, lingers longer than it should - stubborn, tangled, harder each day to act pleased about. On the outside, things appear fine. Viewed one way, my days look steady, the sort others mention wistfully over meals.
It's real between Jayce and me now. No waffling. None of those careful phrases I used so much last year. Just clear truth - his toothbrush stands next to mine, my shirts appear more often in his closet, drifting there without drama. We've built patterns. Brunch every Sunday. Films on Wednesdays.
Fridays mean dinner at his place, him stirring pots while I stack plates after, moving through moments that look like contentment unless you pay attention to the quiet parts underneath.
