“Then don’t.”
“What?”
“Don’ttryto do anything. Just... be here. With me. That’s enough.”
Her thumb brushes mine.
“I still don’t trust you,” she says.
“You don’t have to. Not yet. Just give me time.”
“And if I do?”
“I’ll earn the rest.”
She sits down. Not dramatically. Just like she ran out of places to run.
I sit beside her. Close, but not touching.
The hum of Whiplash powers through the silence. The wind howls. The walls breathe.
And for the first time, neither of us tries to escape.
We just sit.
Still.
Together.
Waiting.
The words settle between us like a pressure front, dense and close. I feel them more than hear them, like her voice is crawling inside my chest and anchoring itself behind my ribs. For once, I don’t try to fill the space with my usual charm or bravado. That part of me—cocky, grinning, incorrigible—is silent, for once, curling in on itself because it knows this moment isn’t for him.
She looks away fast, like she regrets saying it. First the floor, then the bulkhead wall, like either of them are gonna give her better answers than I can.
And I can’t stop staring.
Because it’s not the words that sucker-punch me—it’s the way she says them. Like a confession and a defense, all tangled up in fear. Like she’s been holding it in for so long that it burned a mark in her lungs and she’s only now realizing she can breathe it out.
I shift on the floor, trying not to make a sound, trying not to scare her off. She’s already halfway out of her skin. I don’t even know what part of her I’m supposed to hold—her hand, her shoulder, her pain.
I just… sit there.
Back off, just a bit. Give her the space she needs to not bolt.
And gods, my heart’s thundering. I can hear it in my ears, feel it in my tail. It’s ridiculous. I’ve faced off against monsters three times my size with less adrenaline than this.
Eventually—gods, it feels like hours but it's probably minutes—she slides down the wall and sits beside me. Doesn’t say a word. Doesn’t look at me.
Just... sits.
Back to back.
Like maybe she trusts me enough to be close, but not enough to face me. And you know what? That’s okay.
Her shoulder is warm against mine. Solid. I lean back, not all the way, just enough that we’re touching but not crowding. Her breath is slow. Controlled. Too controlled.
“Hey,” I say, voice low. “You don’t have to say anything else.”
