"Then what?"
Lark shifted again, trying to find a position that didn't aggravate her ribs. "I think she's falling for Jupiter."
Kawan blinked. "And that's... bad?"
"I don't know. Maybe. Maybe not." Lark rubbed her forehead with the heel of her hand. "She's vulnerable right now. Traumatized. And Jupiter's been taking care of her, being therefor her. It would be easy for her to confuse gratitude with something else."
"You think she's mistaking appreciation for love?"
"I think she's never had someone treat her the way Jupiter has,” Lark said. "And I don't want her to get hurt."
Kawan considered that. He'd watched Jupiter with Specs over the last week, saw the way his teammate looked at her when he thought no one was watching. The protectiveness, the genuine concern, the way he seemed to light up when she smiled.
"What if it's not confusion?" he asked. "What if it's real?"
"Then I guess..." Lark paused, seeming to search for the right words. "I guess that wouldn't be so bad."
"Why?"
She looked at him then, and for the first time since he'd known her, her expression was completely open. No walls, no defenses, no carefully constructed armor. "Because love isn't as bad as I thought it would be."
The words hit him like a physical blow. He opened his mouth to respond, but nothing came out. After years of waiting, months of hoping, weeks of wondering if she'd ever let him in—she'd just torn down every wall between them with seven simple words.
"Kawan?" Her voice was soft, uncertain. "You okay?"
"I..." He cleared his throat, tried again. "I don't know what to say."
"You don't have to say anything." Lark's smile was slight but genuine. "I just wanted you to know."
"Know what, exactly?"
She took a breath, and when she spoke, her voice was clear and steady despite the swelling in her lip. "I love you."
The fluorescent lights continued to buzz. The monitors continued to beep. Somewhere down the hall, a baby was crying. But in that moment, in that sterile hospital room with itsindustrial carpet and plastic chairs, Kawan's world shifted on its axis.
"Say that again," he said, his voice barely above a whisper.
"I love you," she repeated, and this time she was smiling despite the pain it caused her split lip. "I love your terrible jokes and your protective instincts and the way you always show up when I need you. I love that you’re patient with me even when I'm being impossible. I love that you see the woman underneath all the armor and that you're not afraid of either version."
Kawan stood slowly, moving to the edge of her bed. "Lark?—"
"I know I'm damaged goods," she continued, the words coming faster now as if she was afraid she'd lose her nerve. "I know I'm not easy to love. I know I have trust issues and abandonment problems, and a job that could get me killed any day. But if you're willing to take all of that on?—"
He silenced her with a kiss, careful of her injuries but desperate to show her how wrong she was. When they broke apart, he rested his forehead against hers.
"You're not damaged," he said fiercely. "You're not too much or too difficult or too anything. You're perfect exactly as you are."
"I'm really not."
"You are to me." He cupped her face gently, thumb brushing across her uninjured cheek. "I've been waiting two years to hear you say those words."
"I'm sorry I made you wait so long."
"I would have waited forever."
"You shouldn't have to." She reached up to cover his hand with hers. "I want to try. I want to figure out how to do this—how to be someone's girlfriend, how to let you love me without pushing you away."
"We'll figure it out together," he said. "No timeline, no pressure. Just us, taking it one day at a time."
