Her voice.
I freeze. She’s in my room but I can’t move, can’t answer.
“Vincent? I brought donuts.”
The bathroom door creaks open. Something drops from her hand—an envelope. “Oh my God. What happened?”
Nova kneels in front of me, eyes wide, but I can’t meet her gaze. I don’t want to see disappointment there. She thought I was better. Almost healed.
“Vincent... baby. Look at me for a second. Breathe with me. Slowly.” Her voice is steady, even though I can hear the tremor under it.
I’m shaking too hard. Tears blur everything. “D-don’t be disappointed in me,” I choke out.
Two hands cradle my face and her thumbs wipe at my tears.
I force myself to look up. Her eyes are red, wet with tears of her own, but she’s smiling at me—gentle, unwavering. As if nothing happened. As if I hadn’t just thrown away years of therapy.
She counts breaths with me until I can breathe without gasping. Then she sits cross-legged between my legs, stroking my hair with fingers so soft I don’t understand how she can touch me without disgust.
“Don’t... don’t touch it. It’s dirty,” I whisper.
Her smile deepens, though her eyes glisten. “It’s okay. Hands are meant to get dirty and your hair’s meant to be touched.”
“Do you... hate me?”
She shakes her head and lifts my hands, asking silently if she can see. I sigh and nod. She grabs a towel, studies the cuts along my arms and back.
“You’re disappointed?” My voice cracks.
She shakes her head again, firm. Rising, she wets a towel in the sink, then kneels back down. She kisses the back of my hand before gently dabbing at the wounds. “Not even a little.”
The sting makes me groan. “Why not?”
“Because I care about you,” she says. “And healing’s not a straight line. You’re not a robot.”
Her voice wavers, but she doesn’t stop. She tends to every cut, disinfecting them with careful, trembling hands. Each time our eyes meet, she forces a smile through her tears. And when she’s finished, she leans down and presses the softest kiss to each wound.
My chest aches, but not from the pain. From her. From the way my heart stutters like it always does around her.
“You’re all red,” she giggles softly, resting her palm on my cheek.
I cover her hand with mine. She gasps but doesn’t pull away. “Nova, I...” My throat closes.
She leans closer, curious. “Hm?”
I shake my head. “Nothing. Just something stupid.”
Her gaze drops to the floor, to my broken glasses. She picks them up—the lenses cracked, the frame bent.
“S-sorry,” I stammer. “You liked those.”
She doesn’t answer right away. Instead, she pries out the ruined lenses, tosses them into the bin, and places the empty frames on my nose. “There. Now you look even better.”
I frown. “But they’re useless without lenses.”
“You’ll buy new ones and keep those, so when we feel like it, we can be eyeglass twins.”
I can’t stop the smile spreading across my face. I pull the frames off and perch them on her nose instead. “Then you should keep them.”
