“Some.”
“Some?”
“A lot.”
I smile into the cup. “Thank you.”
“Don’t thank me yet. You haven’t tried to stand.”
“Good point.”
He leans against the counter, arms crossed, watching me drink. There’s something in his expression I can’t name. Something careful. Like he’s memorizing this.
“What?” I ask.
“Nothing.”
“You’re staring.”
“I’m looking.”
“That’s the same thing.”
“It’s not.”
I set the mug down. “What’s the difference?”
He’s quiet for a moment. Then: “Staring is empty. Looking means you’re trying to remember.”
Oh.
Oh, that’s—
I blink hard. Stupid hormones.
“Anton—”
“I’m leaving tonight.” His voice is steady. Factual. “Two weeks. I’ll be gone two weeks.”
“I know.”
“I need to remember this.” His eyes trace my face. My hair. The way his T-shirt hangs off my shoulder. “You. Here. Safe.”
My throat tightens. “I’ll still be here when you get back.”
“I know.”
“Then why—?”
“Because I’ve never had something to come back to before.” He pushes off the counter and moves closer. Stands between my knees. “Every mission, every fight… I went because the job required it. Not because I wanted to. Not because something was waiting.”
His hand cups my jaw. Thumb brushing my cheek.
“This is different,” he says quietly. “You’re different.”
I reach up and cover his hand with mine. “So are you.”
“Good different or terrifying different?”
