Afterward,we stay exactly where we are.
My arm wraps around her, palm splayed warm against her back. Her head fits in the curve of my neck like it was designed to rest there. The city hums faintly beyond the window—distant, irrelevant.
For a long time, neither of us speaks. We just breathe together, skin to skin, hearts gradually finding the same rhythm.
“Kieran?”
“Yeah?”
She exhales, steady but deliberate. “I forgive you.”
The words hit low and clean, nothing dramatic, just truth landing where it belongs.
I don’t speak. I don’t dare.
She shifts and looks at me, eyes dark and sure. “Not because you asked. Not because of tonight. Because I’m ready.”
My chest tightens, breaking open in a way I didn’t know was possible. I frame her face gently, like she might vanish.
“Thank you,” I manage.
She nods once, then settles back against me, head fitting into the hollow of my shoulder like she’s done it a thousand times.
“That was...” She trails off, searching for words.
“Yeah.”
“Worth waiting for.”
I huff a quiet laugh. “Understatement of the fucking century.”
Her mouth curves. “What happens now?”
I brush a strand of hair behind her ear, letting my thumb linger against her cheek. “What do you want to happen?”
“I want—” She pauses, breath catching. “I want this to be real. Not just tonight. Not just Cluj. I want you in Boston. I want you when things are hard. I want?—”
“Me,” I finish. “You want me.”
“Yes.”
“Good.” I wrap both arms around her. “Because you have me. All of me. Not the performance. Not the golden boy. The real me.”
Her breathing stutters once, then steadies. She movescloser, cheek warm against my chest, fingers curling lightly into my side.
“Irina,” I say quietly.
She stills.
Her exhale is slow, unguarded.
“Yes,” she says. “That’s me.”
47
DIFFERENT ICE (KIERAN)
The rink still sounds the same.
