We fall asleep like that. Two imperfect people, lying in the same bed, fingers intertwined. Still damaged. Still wary. Still needing more than either of us knows how to give.
But at least, for tonight, it’s honest.
The arena beyond the glass is quiet, like the world is holding its breath before the next storm. I wake slowly, awareness returning in pieces – the soft touch of blankets, the faint tingling in my chest from last night’s healing, and...
Warmth against my back.
Zevran’s arm is draped over my waist, his chest pressed to my spine, our fingers still intertwined from when we fell asleep. His breathing is deep and even.
I lie perfectly still, afraid to move and break whatever spell has allowed this moment to exist. His hand is rough with calluses, larger than mine, but the way our fingers fit together feels deliberate. Like maybe we were supposed to find each other despite everything between us.
This is dangerous. More dangerous than the attack last night, more dangerous than the trial ahead … because this feels real.
His breathing changes. I feel him wake, his body tensing slightly as he realizes our position. For a heartbeat, neither of us moves. Then his thumb brushes over my knuckles, just once, before he carefully extracts his hand and shifts away.
The loss of warmth feels like punishment.
“Did you get much sleep?” I ask, not turning to face him yet.
“Enough.” His voice is gruff. When I finally look over my shoulder, his eyes are already open, expression unreadable in the pale light. He glances at the bruises that have formed across my wrists. “Are you okay?”
“I’m fine.” I sit up slowly. “You look better.”
“I feel better,” he admits. Then his gaze meets mine, and for a heartbeat neither of us looks away. He shifts closer, instinctive, his hand brushing the blanket near my thigh.
It would take nothing for that space to disappear.
But he stops himself. A muscle tightens in his jaw, and he pulls back with a breath that sounds like pain.
“Cyra,” he says quietly, “last night was …chaos. You were attacked. You’re bruised. The second trial is only days away.” His hand curls loosely at his side. “You don’t need me confusing things.”
“I’m not confused,” I say. The words come out smaller than I mean them to.
He almost smiles, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. “You should be.”
But I’m not. I’m terrified and reckless and my body still trembles from withdrawal that never fully stops, but I’m not confused about wanting him. About needing him in ways that have nothing to do with magic.
He stands, moving to gather a fresh outfit from the wardrobe, the black leather and red accents of Mars formal wear. “Get some water. Eat something. We’ll leave soon.”
I watch him cross the room, morning light catching on the scars across his shoulders, the lean muscle of his back. When the door to the washroom shuts behind him, I hear the soft hiss of the shower starting – the steady rhythm of falling water filling the silence he’s left behind.
For a moment I just sit there, staring at my hands. The same hands that healed him last night, that held his while we slept, that are shaking now from more than just withdrawal. The restraint he showed should make me grateful.
It only makes me ache.
He knows who I am. He knows what my father did to his family. Yet he still held me last night.
The sound of the water doesn’t stop.
I push the blankets aside and stand. My hands tremble as I cross the room – from both need, and what I’m about to do. This will change everything. There will be no going back from this.
Steam curls from beneath the door, carrying the scent of sandalwood soap.
I push it open.
Zevran’s back is to me, framed by mist. Water runs over his shoulders, tracing the scars like silver wires down his spine. His head is bowed under the stream, dark blond hair slicked against his neck. The water cascades down the planes of muscle, pooling at his feet.
He doesn’t hear me at first. I stand there, heart hammering, watching the way the water catches light against his olive skin. The way his shoulders rise and fall with each breath. My pulse feels like it’s trying to climb out of me.
