He flicks through a few more pics before sighing and taking my plate and his, stacking them, and carrying them to the sink. He doesn’t wash them right away. Just stands there, hands braced on the edge of the counter, breathing.
The muscles in his back tense, the tattoos under his shirt stretch with every breath.
He turns, catching me looking.
“Come here,” he says.
I hesitate, just a fraction of a second, then push out from the table and cross the room. He meets me halfway, hands back at my waist, but this time he lifts, setting me on the counter like I weigh nothing. He steps between my knees, pushing them apart with his thighs, and leans in.
His mouth is hard on mine, nothing gentle about it. He bites, just enough to sting, then sucks at the place he hurt. I gasp, grip his shoulders, and he laughs against my lips.
“Always so stubborn,” he mutters. “Let me take care of you for once.”
I want to argue, but his hands slide under the shirt, skin to skin, and I forget how to speak. He forces me closer, close enough that the world goes blurry, and just holds me there.
“Thank you for the food,” he says.
I tuck my head under his chin, breathing him in. “You’re welcome.”
We stay like that, locked together, until the sky outside goes from gold to gray. The woods are still. The ghosts have gone to sleep.
Inside the cabin, it’s just us.
Two monsters, making something new out of the ruins of the old world.
I think I could get used to it.
“Stay here for a second.” His mouth twists up in a nervous smile.
He crosses to the little shelf by the door, the one where he keeps the good whiskey and his best knife. He pulls his jacket off the hook and digs through the pocket, coming up with something small. He doesn’t hide it, doesn’t try to make it a show.
He sets it in front of me on the table.
A box. Velvet, navy blue, no logo. It sits heavy on the counter surface, demanding to be opened.
He says nothing, just waits.
I stare at it, heart suddenly in my throat.
“You’re not going to get on one knee, are you?” I murmur, afraid of what it would mean if he did.
His mouth twitches. “Not unless you order me to.”
I open the box.
The ring is simple. Silver, no stones, the kind of band that would cut through skin if you punched someone with it. But it’s beautiful, too, in a way that makes my chest ache. Engraved inside, so small I almost miss it, are three words: Never Let Go.
I run my thumb over the metal, feeling the weight of it.
He clears his throat, awkward. “You don’t have to say yes. Not now, maybe not ever. I just—” he breaks off, fists clenched on the counter. “It’s yours. When you’re ready. If you ever are.”
His voice is soft, fragile, like a glass about to break.
I close the box, palm heavy with the future he just offered.
“You don’t have to be scared of losing me,” I say.
He doesn’t look up, but the muscle in his jaw ticks. “I’m not scared.”
