Beneath Her Ice

Eliza Darcy never thought she'd care about drawer space.

Or spice racks.

Or arguing — affectionately — over where to keep the coffee filters.

But then again, she never thought she'd be living with someone who made her want to care.

Not because she had to.

But because he was part of her home now.

It started with something small.

She woke to find a second toothbrush on her sink.

Not at Will's. At hers.

A backup, he'd said. For "emergencies."

But he never left.

Her apartment slowly became their apartment. His books started filling her shelves. Her silk robes hung beside his hoodies. His boots sat side by side with her heels in the entryway. She didn't even notice it happening—until she did.

Until one evening, standing in the kitchen, she looked around and thought:

I don't live alone anymore.

And the strangest part? It didn't feel like a loss.

It felt like peace.

They were brushing teeth side-by-side when Will said it.

"I got the new lease sent over today."

Eliza raised an eyebrow through the mirror. "You're renewing already?"

He spit. "No. We're renewing."

Her toothbrush froze mid-air.

He turned to her, suddenly sheepish. "I told the landlord to draft it in both our names."

She met his eyes. Cool on the outside. Torn up and soft inside.

"You sure?" she asked quietly.

He nodded. "I'm already here every night. I already pick up your oat milk and know where you keep the cold medicine. Might as well make it official."

She stared for a beat longer, then said, "You still organize the fridge like a lunatic."

He smirked. "And you still hoard sparkling water like it's currency."

She stepped forward, leaned in, and kissed him with toothpaste still on her lips. "Fine," she whispered. "Let's make it official."

Two Weeks Later

Boxes. Laughter. Music playing off his old Bluetooth speaker. The lease was signed. The place was repainted. And their things were fully combined — no more "your place" and "mine."

One home.

One rhythm.

One toothbrush cup on the sink.

Will stood shirtless in the middle of their new bedroom, a hammer in one hand and a piece of artwork in the other. "Left or right?"

Eliza stepped up behind him, wrapped her arms around his bare waist. "We've already compromised on the rug and the couch. Surprise me."

"You trust me with aesthetics now?"

"I trust you," she said simply.

He turned around. Set the hammer down.

And kissed her like he didn't take that trust lightly.

That Night

They lay in bed, the city outside their window humming like distant thunder. Her head on his chest. His fingers tracing lazy shapes on her arm.

"You know," she said softly, "I always thought being with someone meant losing a part of yourself."

Will kissed her hair. "And now?"

"Now I think maybe… I was just waiting for someone who made me more of myself."

He didn't say anything.

He just held her tighter.

His eyes drifted to the drawer beside his side of the bed.

Inside was a small velvet box.

He hadn't proposed yet.

But the future felt closer now.

Breathing in her sleep. Resting in his arms.

And wearing his name in ways he hadn't dared speak—yet.