continued ↓
The Moment You Touched the Contract
It was ordinary. That’s why it’s hard to explain.
You’re mid-conversation—warm, easy, that rare feeling of being chosen without having to perform. He’s close enough that your shoulders almost touch. He’s looking at you like you’re not a problem to manage.
And you say something simple.
Not a demand. Not a test.
Just truth, spoken softly:
“Us feels really good lately.”
There’s a pause so small it barely qualifies as a pause.
But your body registers it.
His smile stays, yet something tightens behind it. He kisses your forehead—tender, quick—then turns toward something neutral. A glass. A notification. The sink. A tiny exit dressed up as normal.
Nothing “bad” happened.
And still, the air changed.
Later, replies shorten. Plans go hazy. You start scanning for meaning—because your nervous system felt the shift before your mind could explain it.
That’s the contract: closeness rises… and something in him protects itself.
