“Okay. We can do that.” He pauses. “My turn?”
“Please.”
“I need you to trust that when I set a boundary about safety, it's coming from a place of care, not control. Even if you don't fully understand the threat, I need you to believe that I'm not being arbitrary or toxic.”
“I can do that. As long as you give me enough context to understand the why.”
“Fair.” He runs his thumb over my knuckles. “And I need you to be honest when something feels like too much. Not just in the moment, but before it builds up to resentment. Don’t just submit for the sake of submission.”
“That's harder for me,” I admit. “I'm used to just pushing through.”
“I know. But that's not how this works. This only works if you use your voice.”
I nod. “I'll work on it.”
We sit in silence for a moment, just holding hands and breathing.
“I'm sorry,” he says finally. “For this week. For making you feel surveilled and controlled in a bad way instead of supported and loved. When I protect you, it should feel like putting on a life vest, not a straitjacket.”
“I'm sorry too. For not speaking up sooner.”
He tugs me closer, until I'm straddling his lap, his arms wrapped around my waist.
“I meant what I said,” he murmurs against my hair. “I love you. And I want to build a life with you. Not just survive this crisis, but actually build something real.”
My throat tightens. “I want that too.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah.” I pull back to look at him. “Even with the complications and the learning curve and the fact that we're both a hot mess.”
“Especially because of that,” he says. Then his mouth finds mine, and it's different than before. Not desperate or claiming. Just... connected. Like we're sealing a promise or a vow to each other.
When we break apart, I'm breathless. “Can I tell you something?” I ask.
“Always, Madi. You don’t have to ask.”
“This week sucked. But it also showed me that we can fight without breaking. That we can be honest about hard things and come out stronger.”
He smiles, that rare, soft smile he saves just for me. “You're giving me way too much credit. I panicked and tried to lock you in a tower.”
“And I let you, for a while. But then we talked. We fixed it.”
“We did.” His hands slide up my back. And then he's kissing me again, deeper this time, with intent. His hands find the hem of my shirt, and I arch into the touch.
“Bedroom?” I ask against his mouth.
“Too far away.”
“Good point.”
He shifts, laying me back against the cushions, his body covering mine. And for the first time in days, the tension in my chest eases.
Because we're okay.
We're more than okay.
We're choosing each other and he’s about to be inside of me, bringing us closer together and showing me how great we are.
