Recalibration is supposed to restore balance. Instead, it confirms that something shifted — and neither of you is ready to admit it.
📝 my b y’all. My husband got me Gotham Knights for Christmas and we’ve been playing 24/7. Goal is another chapter today and one more tomorrow so we can have a New Year’s focus one on the actual holiday.
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You don’t talk about Christmas.
Not at first.
You meet in Tim’s office two days later, the city muted behind the glass, the space familiar enough to feel neutral. It’s deliberate. Neither of you suggests anywhere softer. Neither of you needs the temptation.
Tim offers you coffee. You accept. The exchange feels like muscle memory — practiced, safe.
“Optics are… holding,” Tim says once you’re seated. He’s composed, voice steady, fingers resting flat against the edge of his desk. “The response has been consistent.”
You nod. “The assumption’s settled in.”
“Yes.”
There’s a pause. Not awkward. Just careful.
“We should be mindful going forward,” he continues. “The holiday season amplified visibility. That won’t last, but the impressions will.”
“I agree,” you say. “We may need to adjust proximity. In public.”
“Boundaries,” Tim says.
“Yes.”
You both write it down, metaphorically. No one asks which boundaries. No one lists them out loud. You understand each other too well for that.
Silence stretches again.
Outside, a siren wails distantly and fades. The building hums around you, business as usual.
“The end date remains unchanged,” Tim says at last. “January fifteenth.”
He says it like something that can still be controlled.
You breathe out. Not in relief. In acceptance.
“That still works,” you say.
He nods once. “Good.”
Another pause.
This one is heavier.
You look at the window instead of at him. “My family… expectations are stable. For now.”
Tim’s expression doesn’t change, but something in him stills. “I’m glad.”
You almost say thank you again.
You don’t.
Instead, you gather your things. He stands as you do, instinctive, polite.
“We’ll keep communication open,” he says. “If anything feels off.”
“I’ll tell you,” you promise. “Same goes for you.”
“Yes.”
At the door, you hesitate — not long enough to be obvious, but long enough to feel it. Tim notices anyway. He always does.
Nothing is said.
You leave.
Later, alone, you realize what you didn’t talk about.
Not the way his hand had rested at your waist.
Not the way your breath had caught.
Not the way the room had gone quiet for half a second too long.
i'm not super interested in doing my thesis outside of europe but i HAVE always wanted to see the redwoods in the pnw & im a forester so.... hold on....
I did not enjoy recalibrating my iPad’s Home Button for the first time. Earlier in the week, it kept malfunctioning as I tried to take screenshots of Demon Slayer’s Mugen Train Arc episodes on Crunchyroll. It continued to pull that shit when I was watching the 1 hour first episode of the Entertainment District Arc today.
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
So this is still one of my favorite things I’ve ever written and I’d be thrilled for it to be seen. I’m in a huge writing slump and could use some support!
Shakespeare Garden is one of the many places in Golden Gate Park in San Francisco.
I didn’t want to have them go to some fancy restaurant like they always do. Sarah and I stumbled across this place whilst looking for something unique for the celebration. I took some liberties with the timing (it’s only open til 5) because I’m the writer and I can do what I want!
[[Sorry for the art-spam, I’m still fixing this blog up. And on the other hand, at least I have it all in one neat space ;D Thanks for sticking with me peeps who have followed! <3 ~ Munyatta]]
