For a heartbeat, Jassyn nearly filled it. Another apology, some clumsy explanation, anything to bridge the chasm between them. But before he could speak, Lykor exhaled, a sound caught between a scoff and a sigh, his head dropping back against the cushions.
“I’m always angry,” Lykor muttered at last. “That’s nothing new.”
Jassyn blinked, thrown by the flatness of it.
“I’m angry when I can’t protect the people I’d die for,” Lykor continued, voice distant now. “You flew into that storm without me. And I was just supposed toletyou?”
His gaze snapped back to Jassyn’s, blazing with hurt. “You ordered me away. As if I was just another blade to point wherever you needed.”
His fingers dug into Jassyn’s hips, a feral grip shaking with something deeper than fury.
“And I don’t care about your righteous logic.” His lip curled away from his fangs as he leaned in, voice rough with heat. “I didn’t come here to kiss you because I forgive you. I kissed you because I still fucking want you.”
Jassyn’s breath caught, sharp as a knife drawn too close to the heart. His vision blurred, and for a long, suspended moment, he couldn’t move. Couldn’t draw air past the ache in his chest, unable to comprehend being wanted back. Not while some part of him whispered that he didn’t deserve Lykor’s care. Not after sending him away, when Jassyn had known exactly what it would cost.
Jassyn moved slowly, easing off Lykor’s hips to settle beside him on the couch. The air between them still crackled, charged with everything that hadn’t cooled.
Wordlessly, Lykor sat up with him, watchful and waiting.
Jassyn cleared his throat. “I didn’t mean to interrupt.” He winced at how thin his voice sounded. “Your…arrangement with Aesar. I shouldn’t have intruded on his night.”
Lykor exhaled hard, dragging a hand down his face, and mumbled, “He’s asleep anyway.”
When he met Jassyn’s eyes again, the fire had guttered out, leaving behind the quiet ruin of something already burned to ash.
Lykor’s question barely stirred the air. “Can you live like this?” He shook his head, gaze dropping to the floor. “You deserve more than someone bound to a divided life—someone who can only give you borrowed pieces of time. You need someone who can give you all of himself.”
“Don’t tell me what I need,” Jassyn whispered.
He reached for Lykor, carefully now, fingers brushing along the curve of his jaw.
Lykor flinched but didn’t pull away, still staring at nothing. Yet he leaned the smallest fraction closer, his body betraying the pride still locked in his spine.
“You think you’ve only given me pieces,” Jassyn murmured, “but you’ve given me what no one else ever has. You’re whole. You always have been.”
That made Lykor lift his gaze. “I want more,” he said, eyes glowing faintly. “With you. I just…” He glanced away. “I don’t know what that looks like. Because even if I’d give anything to make this simpler, Aesar has a right to live a full life too.”
He didn’t sound angry now. Only worn thin at the edges, like someone trying to want less and failing with every breath.
Jassyn didn’t retreat from the fear laid bare or try to soften it with reassurances Lykor would never believe. He leaned in, resting his forehead against Lykor’s.
“It looks like this,” he said, his thumb brushing the ridge of Lykor’s cheekbone. “It looks like us.”
For a moment, Lykor stayed there—breathing hard, as if even stillness was a battle he’d already lost. Then he shook his head, fierce and final.
“I’m telling you now,” he growled. “I’m not leaving your side again. Don’t fucking ask me to. Because this—” His voice cracked as he drew back just enough to meet Jassyn’s gaze, eyes burning and furious. “Whatever this is won’t survive if you keep sending me away.”
Jassyn parted his lips to speak, but nothing rose. Too many unknowns stretched ahead, and the promise Lykor needed wasn’t one he could give.
Not yet.
But there were other ways to show he was here. Now. Choosing him.
Slowly, Jassyn leaned in again, stopping with a breath’s width left between them—a question asked without a word.
Lykor answered with the barest shift forward, the air trembling as he closed the distance. Their mouths met again, not searching for escape this time or trying to bury the ache, but to gather the fragile pieces between them and shape them into something whole. If only for a moment.
Jassyn slid his palms over Lykor’s chest, mapping each line of muscle, committing the warmth and rise of breath to memory. Lykor shuddered, exhaling roughly into Jassyn’s mouth, but his fingers stayed clamped to his own thighs—rigid and cautious, as if he didn’t trust himself.
