For a second, the mirrored walls made us seem infinite. Two versions of us on repeat: Rune and the bodyguard. Yoon-jae and the man who knew his name.
The doors closed, and the elevator rose.
I looked at Griffin. "Tell me something."
"What?"
"Tell me what you're thinking. I want the authentic version, not the professional one."
"I'm thinking," he said carefully, "that I want you safe. And I'm thinking I don't get to define what safe looks like for you."
"And?"
He swallowed. "And I'm thinking I'm scared."
"Of what?"
"Of this ending," he said. "Not because of a headline. Because you deserve something real, and the world is good at taking real things apart."
The honesty in his voice hit hard.
I nodded once. "Me too, but I'm not choosing silence this time, so they can't take it away."
Griffin's gaze flicked down to my mouth. Back to my eyes.
The elevator dinged. Our floor.
When we reached the room, Griffin checked the hallway as he always did. Habit. Vigilance. Love expressed through procedure.
Inside, the suite was quiet. A lamp glowed near the bed. The curtains were drawn. The city's light bled through the edges, thin and silver.
Griffin locked the door and engaged the secondary latch. Checked the window. Did it all without comment.
Then he turned to me and waited. I walked to him slowly. The way you approach something fragile and precious.
When I reached him, I rested my hand on his chest. Under my palm, his heart beat steadily.
"Touch me," I said.
The muscles in his jaw flexed, then softened. He lifted his hands and cupped my face, thumbs resting along my cheekbones.
His touch was warm and controlled. I leaned into it.
He kissed me gently.
When my lips parted, I was making space for him. I pulled back just enough to breathe.
I whispered, "Slow."
"I can do slow," he said, his voice rough with restraint.
He guided me toward the bed. When we lay down, the world was only sheets and the solid weight of him beside me. The linenwas cool against my back. The air smelled faintly of the trace of stage sweat still clinging to my skin.
Griffin slid his hand along my arm, stopping at my wrist, wrapping his fingers gently.
He looked at me as if he were checking for cracks.
"Still with me?" he asked.
