The city had never felt this peaceful.
Lin Yaoyue was beginning to realize that silence wasn't something to dread. Not when it came in slow mornings, shared meals, and small gestures of care, things she never thought Jiang Zeyan was capable of.
They fell into a new kind of routine.
Yaoyue still woke up early, but now she woke up beside him. At first, she was sure it would feel strange, awkward, like some kind of invasion. But instead, it felt...natural. Comfortable. As if she'd always been meant to lie in this spot, curled toward him, listening to his calm breathing.
Zeyan, unsurprisingly, still woke up even earlier. By the time she stirred, he was usually already dressed, sitting by the window with his morning coffee, quietly reviewing something on his tablet. Yet recently, he'd started making a second cup, leaving it beside her on the nightstand. The first time she noticed it, she'd been oddly touched, though she wouldn't admit it.
Today, as she reached for the still-warm mug and inhaled deeply, she heard him move slightly.
"You're awake," he said softly, not looking away from his work.
"You could try sounding less surprised every morning."
He smiled faintly, still not looking up. "Old habits."
She watched him quietly. There was something comforting about the way he looked right now,mtie loosened, shirt sleeves rolled up to the elbow, hair slightly messy. He'd stopped being the cold, untouchable CEO, at least around her. She felt proud, almost possessive, of seeing a version of him no one else got to see.
"I should warn you," she said, "I might start expecting coffee in bed every morning."
He finally looked at her, eyes warm and amused. "Expect it. Demand it, if you want."
She rolled her eyes. "That's too easy. I prefer keeping you uncertain."
He set down the tablet, stepping toward her slowly. "Too late for that."
"Careful," she teased, pulling the covers up playfully. "You're dangerously close to admitting vulnerability."
"I've already admitted it," he said quietly. "To you."
That silenced her.
She smiled into her mug, heart suddenly louder than the quiet room.
Later that afternoon, they went out, not to some corporate function or a carefully staged dinner, but to a simple bookstore café down the street. The place was quiet, tucked between taller buildings, hidden from the city's rush.
They sat at a small corner table, him reading something dense and business-related, her flipping casually through an old novel. Occasionally, their feet brushed beneath the table, small touches that neither one acknowledged aloud but neither wanted to pull away from, either.
At one point, Yaoyue looked up and caught him watching her.
"What?" she asked, suddenly self-conscious.
He shook his head lightly, eyes soft. "Nothing."
"Zeyan," she said, leaning closer, "you're staring."
"Am I?"
She narrowed her eyes playfully. "You don't have to say I'm beautiful, but it helps."
His lips curled into that small, honest smile she liked best. "You're more than beautiful. You're distracting."
She blinked, genuinely caught off guard. "Distracting?"
"Mm," he murmured. "It's becoming an issue."
"You're ridiculous."
"I'm serious."
She grinned despite herself. "Well, I suppose there are worse complaints."
"None that I can think of," he said, returning to his book as if nothing happened, leaving her smiling stupidly into her tea.
That evening, they cooked dinner together, not because they had to, but because they could. It was surprisingly domestic, almost ordinary, and yet it felt completely right.
Yaoyue washed vegetables at the sink, sleeves rolled up, humming softly. Behind her, Zeyan stood at the stove, quietly stirring something that smelled like garlic and ginger. Every so often, she felt his eyes on her back, lingering just a moment longer than necessary.
After dinner, neither felt like moving. They stayed at the table, quiet and comfortable, empty plates between them.
"You know," she said softly, chin resting on her hand, "I used to think this was impossible."
"What?"
"This," she gestured vaguely. "Us. Normal things. Quiet moments. You."
He considered that, then said gently, "Me too."
"Yet here we are."
"Here we are," he repeated.
She looked at him carefully. "Still worried about losing control?"
"Yes," he admitted easily. "But not in the way I expected."
"How's that?"
He reached across the table, gently taking her hand. "Now, my worry is that I'll lose you."
Her heart fluttered, but she kept her voice steady. "You won't."
"You sound sure."
"I am." She squeezed his hand gently. "You're too stubborn."
He smiled, thumb softly brushing over her knuckles. "That makes two of us."
Later, sitting together on the balcony, Yaoyue leaned her head against his shoulder. The city lights glittered softly below, traffic humming gently in the background.
"You know," she whispered, "I could get used to this."
"To what?"
"Being happy."
He squeezed her hand lightly. "Good. I'm planning on keeping you that way."
She tilted her head up, meeting his eyes. "Careful. That sounds dangerously like love."
His expression softened, eyes gentle and certain. "Maybe because it is."
She smiled gently, quietly, feeling the warmth spread through her entire body.
"Maybe it is," she whispered back.
And neither of them needed to say more.