He laughs — a real one this time, wet and broken and genuine. "That's not romantic."
"It's accurate."
"You're supposed to say something beautiful. Sweep me off my feet."
"You already can't stand up straight. Sweeping seems dangerous." I pull him against me. He comes easily — no resistance, no stiffness, just his body fitting against mine the way it does when he stops fighting it. "I love you. All of you. The performing and the real part. The cupcakes and the crying. The4 AM starts and the destroyed kitchens. The fact that you made me a cookie with hazel eyes and told me not to read into it."
"You read into it."
"I read into everything you do. That's my job."
He presses his face into my neck. His good hand is still gripping mine. His breathing is slow and shaky and leveling out, the way a machine sounds when it's been pushed too hard and is finally throttling down.
"Stay tonight," he says.
"Yeah."
"Not for sex. I can't — my hand—"
"Robin. I'm staying because I want to hold you while you sleep. That's it."
"That's everything," he says, so quiet I barely hear it.
I take him upstairs. Help him brush his teeth one-handed. No 4 AM start tomorrow, no Gordon, no kitchen to survive. He stares at the blank alarm screen for a long time, and I can see it hitting him. The freedom and the terror of it, tangled together.
We get into bed. I pull him against my chest, careful of his hand, and he settles into me like he was made to fit here. His bandaged hand rests between us, warm and throbbing, and I cover it gently with my palm.
"Your hand's going to be fine," I tell him.
"What if it's not? What if the stitches don't—"
"Then we'll deal with it. Together. That's the new rule."
"Together." He tests the word. "I've never done together before."
"I know. We'll figure it out."
He's quiet for a long time. His breathing slows. The tension drains out of his body in stages — first his shoulders, then his back, then his legs, until he's completely loose against me.
"Vaughn?"
"Yeah?"
"Thank you for waiting. For the hour. For not pushing your way up here even though I know you wanted to."
"It was the hardest hour of my life."
"I know. That's why it matters." He presses a kiss to my collarbone. "You waited because I asked you to, even when I was wrong. You respected the stupid boundary. That's — no one's ever done that before. They either leave or they push. You just waited."
"I'll always wait for you."
"Don't say always. That's too much pressure."
"Fine. I'll wait for you tomorrow. And the day after that. And we'll renegotiate annually."
A laugh. Sleepy, small, real. "Deal."
His breathing evens out. He falls asleep in my arms with his bandaged hand between us and his face against my chest and I stay awake for a long time, holding him, listening to his heartbeat slow into the deep rhythm of real rest.
