Zeyan had always believed time was a currency. You spent it with care, traded it for progress, and if you were lucky, invested it in something that paid off.
He'd never thought of it as something you *shared*.
But lately, time with Yaoyue didn't feel spent. It felt given, offered without expectation, without calculation.
And it felt like the smartest thing he'd ever done.
---
They didn't have anywhere to be that morning.
No meetings. No crises. No appearances.
Just the slow glow of morning light spilling over the hardwood floors, and the sound of her humming softly in the kitchen.
Zeyan leaned in the doorway, watching as she plated fruit beside their usual tea setup, hers light and floral, his dark and steady. They'd long since stopped pretending the contrast wasn't symbolic.
"You hum when you're planning something," he said.
She glanced back at him. "That's ominous."
"Or impressive."
"I'll let you decide after breakfast."
He joined her at the table, taking in the subtle differences around them: a sweater of hers draped over the back of a chair, a new bookmark sticking out of a novel on the counter, the faint scent of her perfume in the air. The apartment no longer echoed like it used to.
It felt lived in.
It felt like home.
---
After breakfast, they lingered by the window.
The city buzzed far below, but from up here, it all looked manageable, like the chaos couldn't quite reach them.
"Do you ever think about leaving it?" Yaoyue asked, arms crossed lightly as she leaned into the sunlight.
"Leaving what?"
"The company. The pressure. Everything."
He didn't answer right away.
Then: "I think about what I'd need to stay, instead."
She turned to him, curious. "And what's that?"
He stepped closer, resting his hand gently against her back.
"You."
A soft laugh escaped her. "You're getting good at this."
"I have an excellent teacher."
She tilted her head. "Would you really let it all go one day?"
"If I had something more permanent to build," he said carefully, "yes."
The word permanent hung in the air like a question neither of them fully voiced.
Not yet.
But it was there.
---
That afternoon, they wandered through a local art fair. It wasn't their usual scene, no luxury, no shareholders, no curated silence, just open booths, kids eating sticky sweets, and people selling whatever they'd made with their hands.
Zeyan was visibly out of place, but he followed her anyway, hands in his pockets, eyes sharp despite the casual setting.
"You hate crowds," she said, glancing over her shoulder.
"I don't hate them," he replied. "I distrust their decision-making."
"And yet, here you are."
He gave her a sidelong look. "The things I endure."
"Endure? Please, you've tried three kinds of handmade jam."
He held up a small paper cup of honey peach jelly. "That's your fault."
"You're welcome."
They stopped at a booth selling hand-painted ceramics, mismatched bowls, each one a little imperfect. Yaoyue ran her fingers along a blue-and-ivory piece with a slight chip in the rim.
"This one's my favorite," she said.
Zeyan looked at it, then at her. "Why?"
"Because it's still beautiful even though it's flawed."
He was silent for a moment, watching her carefully.
Then he reached into his wallet and bought it.
---
Back at the penthouse, she placed the bowl on the windowsill, where the light could hit it just right.
"You didn't have to get it," she said.
"I know," he replied. "But I wanted to."
"Why?"
"Because I'm learning," he said simply, "to want the things that make you happy."
Yaoyue turned to him, heart warming. "You really are changing."
"I'm not sure if that's terrifying or incredible."
She stepped into his arms. "Maybe it's both."
---
That night, they curled up on the couch again, a soft blanket draped over both of them. She rested her head on his chest, fingers lightly tracing patterns on his sleeve.
"Zeyan?" she asked quietly.
"Mm?"
"Do you think this will last?"
He didn't hesitate.
"Yes."
"Even when it gets hard again?"
He looked down at her, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear.
"Especially then."
She swallowed softly, letting his words settle.
"I don't want to go back to surviving," she whispered. "I want to live."
He kissed her forehead.
"Then let's build a life worth staying in."