"That simple?"
"Nothing about us is simple." He smiled, and it was tender and knowing and mine. "But it doesn't have to be complicated either. You feel things. I help you process them. We both get what we need."
"Which is?"
"Connection. Purpose. Someone who sees all the messy parts and says 'yes, this too.'" He traced my collar, fingertips light over metal warmed by skin. "Someone who makes the broken pieces feel like art instead of accident."
"You make me sound beautiful."
"You are beautiful. Especially when you're falling apart. When you trust me enough to show the ugly parts along with the pretty ones." He kissed me, soft and deep. "When you crawl across my floor and whisper apologies for being human."
"I'll be better," I said, echoing words from earlier. "Try to control it more. Be less—"
"No." Firm, final. "You'll be exactly what you are. Angry when you're angry. Soft when you're soft. Mine through all of it.The only thing you need to be better at is asking for help before you explode."
"I don't know how."
"Then we'll practice. Like we practice everything else." He gathered me closer. "With patience and persistence and probably a few more destroyed rooms."
"You're too accepting."
"Or you're too used to conditional love." He said it gently but it hit like truth. "To people who only wanted the easy parts. The convenient parts. I want all of you, Bunny. The rage and the tears and the way you look crawling to my bed."
"That's a lot to want."
"Good thing I'm greedy then."
We lay in comfortable silence, bodies cooling, hearts settling into shared rhythm. The anger was still there, buried deep, but it felt manageable now. Like something we could face together instead of a monster that would devour me alone.
"Gabriel?"
"Mmm?"
"Thank you. For the cold shower. For not running when I lost it. For... this."
"Thank you for trusting me with your demons." He pulled the covers over us, cocoon for two broken people. "For letting me see the storm instead of just the aftermath."
"There'll be more storms."
"I'm counting on it." He sounded almost eager. "Each one teaches me something new about you. How to hold you through them. How to bring you back. How to love the wild parts as much as the tame ones."
"You're insane."
"Probably. But so are you. Match made in heaven or hell, depending on perspective."
"Which do you think?"
"Both. Neither." He pressed a kiss to my hair. "Does it matter? We're here now. Together. Survived another meltdown and found each other on the other side."
He was right. It didn't matter if we were heaven or hell or some liminal space between. What mattered was his arms around me, steady as stone. What mattered was knowing I could fall apart completely and he'd still be there, waiting to help put the pieces back together.
What mattered was being his—not just the easy parts but all of it. The anger and the fear and the terrible need to destroy things when the feelings got too big. He'd take it all, transform it, hand it back as something bearable.
"Three weeks left," I said into the gathering darkness.
"Three weeks." Agreement and promise combined.
"Then your mountain house?"
