Again.
Besides, I didn’t want to talk. I didn’t want questions. I just wanted tea, and my bed and—
"You okay?"
Him.
My eyes barely lifted to him as I attempted to nod. But either he didn't see me or he knew I was lying, because without hesitation, like I was nothing but breath and weak limbs, he scooped me up and climbed the stairs. My cold arms tucked inwards, but it was pointless trying to avoid touching him.
He was everywhere. Ifelthim everywhere. More than I'd ever wanted or imagined to feel him. But I'd be a liar if I said it wasn't nice, feeling the way his arms curved around my body, like a marble statue.
With some of my conscience back, I kept my head free from the curve of his neck and pretended to be really interested in our ceiling.
Didn't help.
When he reached my room, he kicked the door open with his boot and set me down gently on the bed. I shuffled away, letting that niggle in my chest simmer as he stood back.
“I’ll be right back,”
My nod was barely a nod, but I still watched him as he disappeared behind the door, hanging on to his footsteps as they faded. I got changed into my go-to baggy black t-shirt, then slipped under my covers, my legs crossed. I could hear the kettle boil. A few cabinets. Then muted creaks of the floorboards as he returned, reappearing with a mug.
Mymug.
I didn’t need to ask what was in it. The dark grey tag dangling over the side said everything for me. Ignoring the ache in my back, I reached over and gripped it; that constantcraving I had for Earl Grey was slipping away entirely once the mug hit my lips.
And I don’t know how he did it, but it was perfect. Just like the last one he made me. Just how I made mine.
“Thank you.”
His jaw ticked as my words settled, but eventually half of his mouth lifted, dimpling his cheek.
Part of him must’ve hated seeing me hurt; otherwise, he would have stood his ground, let me freeze and cry myself to sleep outside the theatre. But he didn’t. He showed up.
Healwaysshowed up.
Even when I didn't want him there. Even when I didn’t want to be saved.
Just like tonight.
He held that soft smile, gaze pinned to me as he grabbed my painting stool from the corner of the room and dragged it a pace away from me. He crouched with a groan, until his elbows rested on his knees and his body leaned forward. And then finally said, low and rough, “Two things.”
His tone was enough for my lips to snap shut.
“One: in case the times I told you before weren’t enough, you need me. Regardless of who the threat is, I’m supposed to be there for you. It’s my job.” His eyes dipped from mine, thinking, before he lifted them back. “Do you understand?”
I swallowed hard. “Yeah.”
“Two,” he sighed, voice rougher now, “I agree with you about not wanting to hide away until you’re better. I do. But for that to happen, for us to get to a place where we one daydon’t need each other, we’ve got to get you in shape to fight back.”
I stared at him, his words washing over me. My head angled. “You’re serious?”
“Dead serious.”
His voice backed that up.
“Things aren’t going to change if you sit here and let what happened take everything from you. I’m with you on that. And you’re already doing great, going to classes, showing up, but if you want your freedom, we need to do more. You need to be strong. You need to fight. And you need to be an indestructible force whether I’m by your side or not.”
He leaned in a little as he said it. Not much. Just enough that I could feel his breath on my cheeks. His eyes flicked to my mouth for a fraction of a second before they snapped back up—too fast, too guilty. Like he wasn’t supposed to let that slip.
