He kisses me. Slow and deep and nothing like the frantic need from before. This is deliberate. A promise shaped like lips and tongue and the small sound he makes when I thread fingers through his hair.
When we break apart, I'm breathless.
"Okay," I say. "So we're doing this. The complicated, public, potentially disastrous thing."
"Apparently." The word comes out half-laugh, half-disbelief.
"People will talk." Stone's voice is careful, giving me space to back out if I need it.
"They're already talking." I gesture vaguely at my silent phone, at the world beyond these walls that won't stop having opinions about us.
"The city might pull my funding." Saying it aloud makes it more real, more terrifying. The grants office email sits in my inbox like a ticking bomb.
"We'll figure it out." He says it with such quiet certainty that I almost believe him.
"Evan thinks I'm making a mistake." I hate how his opinion still matters, still worms its way under my skin even now.
"Evan can shove his opinions somewhere anatomically uncomfortable."
I laugh. Surprised. "That's very human of you."
"I'm learning." He grins. Crooked. Devastating. "Besides, I have opinions about him too. Want to hear the orc version?"
"Desperately."
He launches into a description involving livestock, questionable parentage, and several phrases I'm fairly certain don't translate properly. I laugh until my sides hurt. Until the fear loosens its grip.
My phone buzzes. More notifications. More opinions. More strangers invested in our story.
I silence it.
"I need to call the grants office Monday," I say. "Figure out what 'review' actually means."
"I'll come with you."
"You don't have to."
"I want to." He stands, pulls me up with him. "We're in this together now. Whatever happens."
Together. The word settles warmly in me.
My phone vibrates again. I glance at it despite myself.
Evan.
Thought about my offer? Happy to discuss details whenever you're ready.
I should feel grateful. He's offering a lifeline when I'm drowning. But all I feel is tired of his particular brand of rescue. The kind that comes with strings and expectations and subtle reminders that I owe him for his generosity.
Stone reads over my shoulder. "What are you going to tell him?"
"The truth."
I type quickly before I lose my nerve, thumbs moving across the screen with more certainty than I feel.
Thanks for the offer. I'm going to pass. I need to figure this out on my own terms.
Send.
