Two years into the partnership a friend asks what your person actually wants for themselves, and you open your mouth and find you have been answering for both of you so long the seam went invisible. You were born with Neptune in the seventh house, the house of the one across the table, the agreement that takes two voices, so the boundary between you and whoever you commit to keeps dissolving into a single soft outline. You merge easily. You take on their moods as weather, carry their burdens before they are handed over, and lose track of where you stop and the union starts. There is a quiet pull to rescue, or to be rescued, to make the relationship the thing that finally completes you. None of this makes you foolish; it makes you a person who can love hugely, and who has to keep redrawing the line. The real practice is staying two whole people inside the one agreement, asking what they want and saying what you want as separate sentences. Devotion under this placement means loving someone you can still see clearly across the table, not someone you have quietly absorbed.