“I haven’t let anyone see…” Finn began as I pulled at the hairband holding his hair at the back of his head, massaging his scalp under the spray. He closed his eyes and let out a soft sigh. “… just Dom, Enzo, and my doctor…”
“Hmm…” I hummed, guiding him gently to the bench at the back of the shower and pressing on his shoulders until he sat. Even sitting he was almost at my chest height. He held onto my waist, his forehead against my chest as I poured shampoo into my palm and began massaging it into his hair. The weight of him leaning into me, his breath warm against my skin, and his grip on my hips calmed my nerves.
“You don’t have to hide from me, you know that right?” I whispered.
His forehead pressed harder against my chest, arms tightening around my waist, breath shuddering out against my skin.
“I know,” he responded at length as he relaxed against me. I washed my own hair before I pulled him up to rinse both of us and set him back down again to apply conditioner. His hands trailed over my backside, calloused fingers digging in gently while his lips traced soft kisses between my breasts.
The thunder was barely audible overhead as I pressed closer, my hands mapping the places where his body had been broken and healed, marveling at the strength it must have taken to survive what had marked him.
“Thank you for letting me see you,” I murmured after I rinsed us one more time, rocking onto my toes to brush my lips againsthis. “For trusting me with this.”
His arms tightened around me, and when the next flash of lightning came, neither of us noticed.
When we finally emerged from the bathroom, warm and relaxed, I pulled on one of my oversized sleep shirts and a pair of soft cotton panties while Finn changed into boxer briefs and a t-shirt. The storm was still raging outside, but it felt distant now, muffled by the intimacy we’d just shared.
“How do you feel about pillow forts?” I asked as he sat on the edge of the bed again.
He squinted at me in confusion. His head must have been bothering him still.
“Like when we were kids, except for adults who need to hide from storms and migraines.” I was already moving toward the second bed.
The corner of his mouth lifted. “You want to build a fort?”
“I want to build us a cave,” I started gathering pillows. “Dark, soft, quiet. Storm-proof.”
Finn stood carefully, swaying slightly as he helped me strip pillows from the extra bed. We worked mostly in silence, him moving slowly but deliberately as he helped me build. I noted the favoring of his right side, realizing it hadn’t been as pronounced the last couple of weeks, even when he was tired. I tried to take on the bulk of construction, but he was stubborn and insisted on helping, even when a light sweat broke out across his brow. Despite that, we created a cocoon against the headboard of our bed within minutes. Soft blankets tucked behind the picture above the headboard, cascading down to create the ceiling while pillows were stacked and arranged as walls to block out the world. It was ridiculous and perfect and exactly what we both needed.
“After you,” I gestured toward our makeshift cave.
Finn crawled in first, settling back against the pillows with a sigh of relief as the soft barriers muffled the storm’s fury. As I curled up beside him, I couldn’t shake the feeling that somethingwas still off. The medication hadn’t seemed to kick in like usual, and even now, relaxed against the pillows, there was a heaviness to him that felt like more than just storm exhaustion.
“Better?” I asked, my hand finding his chest. His breathing was more labored than it should be under the soft cotton of his shirt. He covered my hand with his own, thumb brushing over my knuckles.
“Will be,” he murmured, his other arm tightened around my shoulders as another rumble passed overhead. “Though I think you might be the one hiding from the storm.”
I nestled into his side, breathing in the scent of his soap mixed with my shampoo. “Maybe we’re hiding from it together.”
The space around us felt separate from the world, insulated by layers of softness and the scent of rain on the windows. Finn’s fingers traced up and down my arm.
“You were incredible today,” I said after a while, my fingers scratching gently against his chest. “When everything started going wrong, you just... knew what to do.”
“That’s the job,” I could hear his smile. “Teaching you to solve problems instead of panic.” He was quiet for a moment, his fingers stilling against my arm. “Except I almost didn’t. Do my job, I mean.”
I lifted my head to look at him, catching the shift in his voice. “What do you mean?”
“My depth perception,” his eyes focused somewhere beyond our pillow walls, “or lack thereof. Makes it harder to judge distances, assess weather patterns properly.” His hand tightened on mine. “I realized up there that I couldn’t accurately gauge how fast that storm was building, how close those cells really were. Put you in more danger than I should have.”
“But you got us home safe,” I settled back against his shoulder.
“This time. But what if next time I can’t tell how bad it really is until it’s too late? You trusted me completely, and I’m not sure I deserved that trust.”
I pressed closer, feeling the tension in his muscles that weretoo warm. “You did deserve it. You kept me calm, taught me what to do, got us through it when everything went wrong at once. That’s what leaders do. What partners do.”
Lightning flickered again, but the thunder felt muted, manageable. “You know, I’ve been thinking about flight instruction,” I continued. “Not for me, necessarily, but... as something you could do. Teaching.”
Finn was quiet for a long moment. “Been thinking about it too,” he admitted. “But I’m not sure where it fits. Can’t do certified instruction from the air anymore, but ground school, maybe. Systems, weather theory, navigation principles.”
