"You're not a burden, Ava." He set his glass down and turned to face me fully. "You've never been a burden. So don’t.”
He was looking at me. Just looking. Like he was memorizing something he expected to lose.
"Don't what?"
"Don't take the apartment."
"What?"
"I know that's not fair." He ran a hand through his hair, frustrated. "I know the deal was temporary. I know you have every right to leave. But Ava?—"
He stopped. Started again. "I don't want you to leave. I've been in love with you for four years, Ava.”
"Four years," he said again. "Four years of morning coffee and balcony conversations and pretending I was fine being your friend when I wanted so much more. Four years of falling for you, a little more every day, and never saying a word because I was terrified of losing you."
"Brian—"
"And then we started living together." He laughed, but there was no humor in it. "We moved in together and suddenly you were everywhere. Your coffee mug in the sink. Your laugh in the hallway. Watson stealing my spot on the couch because you let him get away with everything." He met my eyes. "I don't want to live in an empty apartment, Ava. I want you in my life. Not as a roommate. Not as a neighbor. As... everything. With me.”
I was shaking. I hadn't noticed when it started.
"Say something," he said. "Please."
I should have had words. Should have had something eloquent, something that matched the weight of what he'd just given me.
Instead, I crossed the distance between us and kissed him.
It wasn't tentative. Wasn't uncertain.
It was four years of waiting, crashing into this single moment. My hands fisted in his shirt. Pulling him closer, his arms wrapping around me like he was afraid I'd disappear. He tasted like wine and something sweeter underneath, and I kissed him like I'd been starving for this.
Because I had.
When we finally broke apart, we were both breathing hard. His eyes were dark, searching my face like he was memorizingevery detail. His hands were shaking where they gripped my waist, and something about that—Brian, steady Brian, trembling because of me, it made my throat tighten.
“That's a yes, right?” he asked. “That's you staying?”
"That's a 'shut up and kiss me again, Torres.'"
He made a sound, something between a laugh and a groan, and then he was kissing me again, deeper this time, his hands sliding into my hair, tilting my head back. I went willingly. I'd have followed him anywhere.
Watson meowed from the windowsill. Loudly. With the deeply offended tone of a cat who believed he deserved undivided attention at all times.
"Ignore him," I breathed against Brian's mouth.
"Planning on it."
He pulled me into his lap, my knees bracketing his hips. His hands settled on my waist, steadying me, and something I'd held tight finally gave way. This was happening. This was actually happening.
I pulled back just enough to see his face. My heart was pounding so hard I was certain he could feel it.
God, he was beautiful. I'd always known that, in the abstract way you notice things about friends—dark eyes, strong jaw, the kind of easy smile that made people trust him instantly. But this close, with his lips swollen from kissing me and his pupils blown wide and his chest rising and falling like he'd just run a marathon, it hit different.
The scar on his forearm caught the light—a burn from his rookie year, he'd told me once. His shoulders were broad, his arms solid with the kind of muscle you earned hauling hose and carrying people out of burning buildings. And his hands on my waist, warm and steady, made me feel small in a way I'd never liked before.
I liked it now.
I wanted those hands everywhere, grounding me, claiming me.
