Full of things we weren’t ready to say, of the space between want and restraint. I stayed in his lap for a heartbeat longer, just breathing — my forehead against his, the both of us trying to remember how tobe still.
Then I let out a tiny, helpless laugh. “That got… intense.”
Silas huffed out a sound somewhere between a chuckle and a groan, resting his head against my shoulder. “You think?”
It broke something between us — in the best way.
For a long moment, I could only feel the rhythm of his breathing against mine — the ragged, unsteady kind that felt stolen from the stars outside. My legs were trembling, my heart thudding somewhere in my throat.
Then he shifted beneath me. I thought he might speak, but he stood, still holding me, his hands steady under my thighs.
“Silas—” I started, a startled laugh catching in my chest.
“Shhh.” He adjusted his grip, carrying me the few steps toward the old armchair by the fire. “You’ll melt if I put you down anywhere else.”
I snorted, but it came out soft. He sat first, pulling me down with him so that I was perched sideways across his lap, half-swaddled in his arms. The chair creaked in protest, but he just murmured, “There. Better.”
The fire had burned low — amber and slow. The air between us still felt charged, but now it hummed instead of crackled. My fingers toyed with the edge of his collar, tracing the damp heat of his neck.
“I can’t believe you justcarriedme,” I said, the laugh slipping out before I could stop it.
“You looked like you might fall apart,” he muttered, which only made it funnier.
“So bossy.”
“Ungrateful,” he countered, the corner of his mouth twitching.
I rested my head against his shoulder, trying not to smile too hard. “You’re kind of?—”
“Don’t,” he warned, but I couldhearthe grin behind it.
“—sweet,” I finished, grinning outright now.
He groaned quietly, tipping his head back. “You ruin everything, menace.”
“Yeah,” I whispered, tugging lightly at his shirt, “but you let me.”
For a while, neither of us said anything. The chair creaked again, his thumb drew lazy circles against my arm, and the heat between us settled into something almost gentle.
And that was the strangest part — that after all of it, the chaos and the closeness, nothing about this… abouthimfelt dangerous anymore. It just felt… safe.
I don’t know how long we stayed like that. Long enough for the fire to sink into embers, for the air to cool around us until his body felt like the only steady warmth left in the room.
It should’ve been awkward, sitting tangled in his lap like some lovesick cliché. But it wasn’t. Every time I thought about moving, his hand flexed at my waist like he wasn’t ready to let me go, and I… didn’t want to make him.
That realization came quietly and slowly, like snow melting through cracks. Because this — the safety, the soft after-breath of something wild — was exactly the thing I’d convinced myself didn’t exist.
And I wanted to keep it.
When I finally stirred, it wasn’t to escape. I just whispered, “The mattress’ll be warmer,” and he hummed like he agreed, though neither of us moved right away.
Then he did — in that same careful, steady way he always did everything that mattered. He stood again, lifting me like I weighed nothing, and set me down on the pile of blankets by the fire.
The sheets still smelled of heat and cedar andhim. I watched as he roused the flames once more, shadows softening his jaw, his shoulders.
When he slid in beside me, there was no hesitation this time. He just folded me in, chest to my back, with an arm slung over mywaist. His breath found that quiet rhythm again, slow and even against my neck.
Then he murmured, half-asleep already, “You okay?”
