Three weeks. That’s how long it’s been since that night. Since the fear. Since the shaking hands and sleepless hours. Somehow, she’s still standing. Still healing.
She’s learning to breathe again. To take up space. To believe that this life—the quiet, the safety—is hers.
I love watching it happen.
Every sunrise with her feels like a small miracle I don’t deserve but will fight like hell to protect.
Sera thinks she’s just running, but I see it—the freedom in every step. The weight falling from her shoulders, piece by piece.
Maybe that’s the part that breaks me the most.
Because the more she becomes herself, the deeper I fall.
Even if we are keeping her in just a bigger cage…
Fuck. Off. Obtrusive thought.
Sera slips out through the glass doors, the early light spilling over her like liquid gold. The dogs move with her—one ahead, one at her flank—muscle and grace in perfect sync. I follow her to the doorway, leaning against the frame, coffee mug still warm in my hand.
The world outside still wears dawns hush. Mist drifts low across the grounds, pale gold light threading through the trees. When she starts to run, it’s like the earth gives way for her—she doesn’t fight it, shemoves with it. Klaus and Artemis flank her, muscles rippling.
I just stand there, staring like an idiot, trying to understand what this thing clawing inside my chest really is.
Love.
The word feels foreign. Like a language I was never taught but somehow understand.
I’ve seen what people call love. My parents didn’t have it. They had noise—shouting, glass breaking, nights that reeked of shit decisions and cheap whiskey. Whatever that was, it wasn’t love.
Mac and Logan though…
They’ve got something real. The kind of love that sticks, even when it’s messy. I’ve seen how he looks at her like she hung the damn stars herself. But what I feel for Sera? It’s not that.
Love, for me, isn’t fireworks or grand gestures.
It’s silence—the kind that doesn’t hurt. It’s the peace that settles in when she’s near. It’s her voice in the morning, the way she listens when I talk about chords and lyrics like it’s scripture. It’s wanting to protect her, not because she’s fragile, but because she’ssacred. She’s safety. Warmth. Home.
Fuck me, she is our salvation.
Maybe love isn’t something you fall into.
But we fell into her.
Maybe, just maybe, it’s a poison. It’s blood poisoning. Sepsis. There’s contact, a wound, it gets inside and spreads through your blood vessels. It consumes you, sneaking up on you like a fever. You can fight against it, with your bitter antibodies, trying to repel it. Lie to yourself, tell yourself over and over again that you are fine. But sneaky bitch that it is, just sits in your system till its consumed you. Slips under your skin, rewires your nerves. Before you know it, your decaying husk of self is reanimated with purpose. You feel permitted to breathe again. You have reason to open up. To share. To Care…
Definitely describe falling in love with her like a fucking bacterium, you weird bastard.
It’s true though. Shit, the longer she seems to care, the more I feel like it’s okay to be cared for. Like I am worth a damn.
Because that’s what she’s done to me.
Taught me that peace doesn’t have to mean numb. That I can be touched without pain. That maybe I’m not broken beyond repair.
I sip the last of my coffee, the taste bitter. My gaze follows her figure as she disappears past the tree line, the dogs close behind.
Yeah.
This isn’t the love I grew up watching on the TV.
