The fear in his question breaks my heart. "Micah, I was in love with you before there was any biological component. The bond didn't create my feelings—it just finally gave me a context to understand them."
"But what if—"
"No what ifs." The words come out more firmly than I intended. "I'm not going to sit here and promise you I'll never doubt myself or never struggle with this transition. But I am going to promise you that I'll work through those moments instead of running from them."
Everything in me wants to say no, wants to close the distance between us and show him exactly how real this is. But that's exactly the kind of thinking that got us into this mess.
"If that's what you need, yes." The words scrape my throat raw. "But Micah...I need you to know that wanting you isn't going anywhere. When you're ready, when you trust that this is real—I'll be here."
The promise makes his breath catch, and I can see the moment it hits him. Not pressure, but patience. Not pushing, but presence.
"What does slow mean, exactly?" I ask, because I need to understand the boundaries. "I don't want to mess this up by assuming."
"It means we don't rush back into physical intimacy just because the bond makes it feel easy. It means we build the emotional foundation first."
"What about the bond itself?" I gesture between us, acknowledging the constant pull. "Being close without touching, sleeping separately when our bodies are telling us we should be together."
It's already difficult. Just sitting this close to him has every nerve ending firing, and I can see he's feeling it too.
"We'll figure it out as we go," he says. "But Nick? When I say slow, I don't mean we can't touch at all. I just mean we don't skip past the talking because the physical stuff is easier."
Relief nearly knocks me over. "Good. Because honestly, not being able to touch you at all might kill me."
The admission makes him smile, the first real smile I've seen since this started. "I think we can manage some touching. Just...let me set the pace for now? Until I'm sure I can trust my own judgment?"
"Whatever you need." The words are immediate, absolute.
His eyebrows rise. "Just like that?"
"Micah, I bonded you and then abandoned you the next morning. I don't get to make demands here." The shame of what I did hits fresh. "You're setting the terms because I already proved I can't be trusted to make good decisions when it comes to us."
He studies my face for a long moment, and I let him see everything—the regret, the determination, the love I'm finally brave enough to acknowledge.
"Okay," he says quietly. "We can try."
The relief is so intense I nearly stagger. "Yeah?"
"We can try," he repeats, stronger this time. "But Nick? This isn't me saying everything's fixed. This is me saying I'm willing to see if you can keep these promises."
"I'll keep them." The words come out like a vow. "All of them."
We sit there for a moment, the weight of our agreement settling around us. It's not the romantic reconciliation I might have imagined, but it feels more solid than any grand gesture could. It feels like the beginning of real work.
"So what happens now?" he asks.
"Now we figure out how to do this one day at a time." I hesitate, then push forward. "And maybe...maybe I could stay tonight? Not for anything physical. Just stay. The separation has been hell, and if we're going to try this, I think we both need the relief."
He's quiet for a moment, considering. I can see the war playing out on his face—wanting the comfort but afraid to trust it.
"What would that look like?" he asks finally.
"Whatever you're comfortable with. Guest room, couch, I don't care. I just..." I struggle to find words that don't sound desperate. "I need to know you're okay. That we're okay. The bond makes it hard to be away from you, but it's more than that. I've spent two days thinking I might have lost you permanently.I'm not ready to go home and spend another night wondering if you're going to change your mind."
"The guest room," he decides. "But Nick? This isn't...this doesn't mean we're jumping back into how things were before. This is just comfort while we figure out what comes next."
"I understand." Relief floods through me anyway. "Thank you."
"Don't thank me yet," he warns, but he's almost smiling. "You haven't experienced my post-heat crash mood. I'm apparently not pleasant company when I'm emotionally and physically exhausted."