It’s her.
Her fingers tracing circles over my ribs.Her forehead tucked under my chin.Her leg thrown gently over mine.Her body pressed against me like I’m the only safe place left on earth.
“You awake?”she whispers without lifting her head.
“Yeah.”
“You hurting?”
“Yeah.”
She lifts her head then, giving me that look, the one that makes my ribs ache in ways unrelated to the cuts.
A soft, worried, stubborn-as-hell look.
She sits up a little, brushing the hair off my forehead.“Let me get your meds.”
“No.”
She narrows her eyes.“Riot.”
“I don’t want meds right now.”
“And why not?”
“Because they knock me out.”I slide my hand along her thigh, anchoring myself to her.“And I want to remember this.”
Her breath catches.
We stare at each other, and the weight of the last few days settles between us—everything we lost, everything we fought, everything we remembered, everything we almost didn’t survive.
“Come here,” I murmur, pulling her back down.
She slides against me easily, fitting into the curve of my body like she always belonged there.And maybe she did.Maybe all that time we spent dancing around each other before the accident was just us waiting for the world to pull us closer.
Her fingers trace the scar on my chest from an old mission.The one hidden under my tattoos.“You’re covered in memories,” she whispers.
“We all have memories and scars,” I murmur into her hair.
She lifts her head again, eyes soft.“I want to make new ones.”
My breath stutters.
“I need you,” I say, voice low and bare.“Not just in moments of war.In the quiet shit too.In the dark.In the morning.In whatever life comes next.”
Her breath catches.“Riot…”
“And I’m gonna ask you something,” I continue, heart pounding, “but I want to do it right.Not while I’m healing.Not while I look like I got hit by a semi.”
She smiles softly.“You look alive.”
I smirk.“Barely.”
Then her smile fades.Her voice cracks as she murmurs, “I asked you once not to fall in love with me.You and I both agreed.”Her eyes shine.“And I did anyway.”My chest caves.
“I’m glad you did,” I whisper.
She leans in and kisses me—slow and sweet and grounding.And right there, with her mouth on mine and her hand on my heart, I make the decision that’s been fighting to surface for months, I’m asking her.
