I’ve spent my adult life selling them, shaping them into whatever people wanted to hear. Words are air. Words are empty rooms. They mean nothing without the actions to support them.
Even when he’s been a monster, Kirill is the only real thing I’ve ever known. He can’t give speeches. I’ll have to learn to live with that if this thing is going to work.
But he can take action.
That’s how I’ll get him to prove himself.
When Kirill enters, the whole apartment shrinks around him.
This isn’t like last time, though. He’s navigating through my space differently. Usually, he stands with his hands at his sides while his eyes scan for threats. This time, he’s touching things. Noticing them. Not feeling the vibes like I do, but getting closer.
Trying.
He picks up a goblin-shaped mug from the cluttered makeshift table. It’s lumpy and ugly-cute. A friend’s clumsy attempt at pottery.
He holds up the goblin mug with a frown. “This is…weird.”
I snatch the mug from him and glare. “A friend made that. It’s beautiful.”
“Beauty is in the eye of the beholder, I guess.” His hand closes around mine, gentle but absolute. He keeps his face unguarded. I’ve never seen him so open. “I’m not good at this. I’ll never be good at this. What do you want? I’ll do anything you want.”
Electricity sizzles down my skin as my root chakra starts listing off all the “anythings” it wants done again. And a few more it’s conjured on the spot.
Too bad he means this more like a contract.Name your price. I’ll pay.
And my heart chakra can’t deal with that.
I set the mug down, my hands shaking a little. I think of my life before him.
Empty. Staged. All facade and nothing authentic. I could have stayed in that place, locked in the numbness, untouched by chaos or pain. But then Kirill blew everything up. He forced me to feel. Forced me to fight, to connect, to exist.
“What I want is what you said already. A partner. Not a manager. Not a protector who makes all the decisions for me. Apartner.”
His jaw flexes. “Okay.”
He’s lying. Not a full lie, but not the full truth either.
“You don’t get it, Kirill.” In the narrow space between us, my voice comes out too loud. “You say ‘okay,’ but you’ll just go right back to doing everything yourself. You’re a loner. You don’t know how to let anyone in.” Despite my negative words, hope flares bright in my chest.
Just my chest. Nothing lower. Definitely nothing lower.
“You’re right.” His gaze cuts sideways, then drags itself back to me. “I don’t know how.” He step forward. Not quite touching, but close enough that the absence of contact feels like a burn.
I lean into the ache.
“Leaving you was—” He shakes his head. The words seem to tangle. “I thought… My way of doing things… I thought it was better.” His mouth twists into a frown. “I screwed up.”
I watch his eyes. They shimmer in a way I’ve only glimpsed in him once before. Uncertainty. Hesitation. Even raw fear.
“I don’t know how to do this. You do. You’re the one who connects. I just…” He pauses, the silence thick. “I’m a weapon. You aim me.” Kirill stands rigid, his jaw clenched taut enough to make his temples jump. This man who has stared down gun barrels without blinking is afraid. Right now. Of me. Or maybe of himself.
I finish closing the distance between us and rest my hands on his chest. His heart batters against my palms, wild and frantic under the white shirt. “Breathe.”
He sets his jaw harder but gives a quick, stubborn nod. He draws a breath. Exhales slowly. Just like you’re supposed to.
I’m not smiling because he obeyed. I’m smiling because he shifted direction, even if only by a fraction, for me. For us.
I rise up on my tiptoes and kiss him. He yanks me in by the waist, his mouth hungry.
