“Yes.” My chest tightened.
Something in his shoulders eased.
“I just…” I hesitated, searching for the right shape of it. “I don’t want it to beonlyyou managing me. These rules,the pictures, the debriefs. I love them. I need them. But if we never… see each other… if it’s just management and control and you on a screen?—”
“I know.” His hand slid to the back of my neck. “I don’t want that either.” His gaze flicked away, just for a second, like the idea physically hurt. “I wish my life was different.”
“I don’t wishyouwere different,” I said quietly. “Just the parts that hurt.”
He looked at me like I’d cracked something open in his ribs that had nothing to do with knives.
“You are more than the weekend,” he said suddenly, like the thought had just grabbed him by the throat. I’m not slotting you into a schedule between enforcement and dinner and calling it done.”
“I know that. I still hate that this is all we get,” I added. “Two days. A lot of phone calls. A lot of photos. It makes the goodbyes feel… bigger than they should.”
His throat worked. “It’s not a goodbye.”
“It is for the next two weeks.”
He flinched like I’d hit him.
I tried to soften it. “It’s not the dramatic kind. It’s just… the quiet one. The kind where I walk into an elevator and know I won’t touch you again until the calendar lets me.”
“Baby.” His hand on my neck tightened. “You’re actually going to kill me.”
“You can call me dramatic.”
“Youaredramatic.” He tugged me in, pressed his forehead to mine again. “And you’re right. And I hate it.”
“You’re very honest this morning.”
“Being stabbed loosens my filter.”
“You’re making jokes. That means you’re about to spiral.”
He exhaled, long and slow. “I’m panicking a little, yes.”
“About what?”
“That you’ll walk out that door thinking I care more about syndicate lines than about you.”
“I don’t think that.”
“You might later. When you’re tired and the plane is loud and I’m not there.”
“I’ll be annoyed at your job,” I traced the back of his hand. “Not at you.”
“Same thing.”
“It’s not.”
He sighed, lifting my hand and kissing my knuckles. “I need to go shower. If I keep looking at you, I’m going to start a fight with my own timetable.”
“Go. I’ll make coffee. I can at least send you into battle caffeinated.”
He kissed me once more, quick and rough, then pulled away like it hurt. The bathroom door shut behind him. Water started a moment later.
I sat there a second, fingers pressed to my mouth, heart doing something stupid and painful in my chest.
