“Fuck, Bastian,” Haven scoffs quietly, shaking her head as she slips an arm around Kai’s waist. “You just don’t know when to quit, do you?”
“You do.” I stare her down like I have every person who’s ever dared stand up to me in the past. “And it’s always too soon, girl.”
Kai leans on her heavily as Haven leads him out, his arm draped over her shoulders.
They’re leaving.
Together.
Without me.
Everything I can think of to make them stop, I know will only make things worse.
But, Christ, I’m still compelled to try.
I catch Haven’s arm as they reach the gate leading out of the mausoleum’s small garden.
She glares up at me with angry blue eyes.
“He’s going to need aftercare.” The term feels strange in this context, but it’s the only framework I have. “Tonight was intense. For all of us, but especially for him. He’ll need a shower. Better yet, a bath. Warm clothes. Electrolytes. Not an energy drink. The caffeine will just?—“
“I know what he needs, Bastian,” Haven snaps. “He needs someone to hold him and tell him he’s okay. He needs someone who won’t make him feel like shit for having feelings. He needsto be reminded that he’s loved, and that nothing that happened tonight changes that.”
She tilts her head, studying me with what might be pity.
“Did you seriously think I wouldn’t know how to take care of him?”
I don’t answer her because I don’t want to admit that yes—yes, I did think that.
I thought I’d have to explain the importance of gentleness after such intensity, the way the psyche needs tending after it’s been cracked open. I had to teach myself those things from books and research, through years of trial and error with partners who didn’t stick around long enough to benefit from my eventual understanding.
It never occurred to me that someone could know without having to be taught.
“I—” I stop. Start again. “No. I just…I wanted to make sure.”
Haven’s expression softens.
“You’re not the only one who cares about him.” She reaches up, her fingers brushing against the gouges on my cheek. I flinch, but she doesn’t pull away. “And you’re not the only one who cares about you, either. Even when you make it really fucking hard.”
Before I can respond, she rises on her tiptoes and presses her lips to my wounded cheek.
The kiss is gentle. Tender. It lands directly on the scratches she left earlier, but the ache of it mingles with the softness of her lips, the warmth of her breath.
At once a soothing balm and a stinging reminder.
“Ow,” I murmur.
“Stop whining, you fucking crybaby,” she murmurs against my skin.
Then she pulls back, loops her arm around Kai’s waist, and guides him toward the road.
Haven shoulders Kai’s weight without complaint, murmuring something to him that makes his shoulders relax slightly. She adjusts her grip when he stumbles, steady and sure, and she doesn’t look back.
I marvel at how easy it is for her to be kind, like it’s a factory setting I didn’t ship with.
Might I have had the capacity if Evelyn hadn’t carved the softness out of me by the time I hit puberty?
Who the fuck knows.
