“I am deeply normal,” I protest.
She gives me a look. “You are a walking exception clause.”
I reach for her again, gentler this time, hands sliding to her waist like they’ve always belonged there. “You okay?”
She nods. Then shakes her head. “Ask me again in five minutes.”
“Deal.”
She studies my face, fingers lifting to trace a scar along my jaw. “You look… alive.”
I lean into her touch. “I am.”
“And you’re really here.”
“I am.”
“And you’re not leaving tomorrow.”
I hesitate just enough to be honest. “Not tomorrow.”
She exhales slowly. “Good.”
We stand there, holding each other in the quiet, the incendiary flowers crackling softly behind us like a warning and a promise all at once.
I rest my forehead against hers. “I got your message.”
Her lips tremble. “Yeah?”
“I listened to it three times,” I admit. “Then I scared the enemy so badly they ran.”
She laughs, breathless. “Figures.”
I pull back just enough to look her in the eyes. “You did that.”
She swallows. “So you’re really staying.”
I nod. “Alliance law doesn’t mess around with paternity leave.”
Her hand drifts to her stomach, instinctive and reverent. “Guess we’re both learning new things.”
I smile, fierce and soft all at once. “Guess we are.”
Outside, the city hums.
Inside, the world finally, finally stops long enough for me to breathe.
I takeher hand and we don’t talk about it.
We don’t saybedornoworare you sure. We don’t need to. There are no words left that our bodies don’t already know how to translate. She pulls me with her, fingers laced through mine, urgency in the set of her shoulders that has nothing to do with fear and everything to do with gravity.
The door to the bedroom slides shut behind us with a soft, final click.
The room is dim, lit only by the city glow leaking through the window. Neon reflections crawl across the walls like restless thoughts. The bed is unmade—sheets twisted, pillows shoved aside like they were abandoned in a hurry. It looks exactly right.
She turns to face me and for a second we just stand there, breathing the same air. I can smell her—soap, heat, something sweeter underneath. I can hear the city outside, distant traffic and the faint thrum of power lines, but it all feels far away, muffled, like the world politely averting its eyes.
“Hey,” she says, soft.
