“Hey,” I answer.
That’s all it takes.
We fall into each other like we’ve been cut loose.
There’s nothing frantic about it, even though it’s urgent. Nothing careless, even though we’re hungry. It’s like every movement has weight now. Meaning. I cup her face with both hands and she leans into me, eyes closing, mouth parting against my palm like she trusts it there.
I kiss her and it’s slow.
Not tentative. Not shy.
Intentional.
Her hands slide up my arms, fingers catching on the seams of my armor, and she makes a frustrated sound in the back of her throat. I chuckle against her mouth and step back just long enough to shed the rest of it, plates disengaging with soft hisses as they fall to the floor. The weight leaves my body but not my bones—I still feel anchored, grounded, like I finally belong in my own skin.
She watches me the whole time.
Not like she’s assessing damage. Not like she’s bracing for loss.
Like she’s memorizing.
“Come here,” she whispers.
I do.
We reach the bed together and it’s clumsy for half a second—knees bumping, balance off—but then we’re down, sheets cool against my back, her weight warm and real on top of me. I slide a hand along her spine, feeling the rise and fall of her breath, the subtle tremor she’s not trying to hide.
“This is different,” she murmurs.
I nod. “Yeah.”
Different doesn’t mean fragile.
It means sacred.
I roll us gently, careful, until she’s on her back and I’m braced over her, my weight supported on my forearms so I don’t crowd her. She reaches up and touches my face, tracing the line of my jaw, the scars she already knows by heart.
“You’re looking at me like you’re scared,” she says.
“I am,” I admit.
She blinks. “Of me?”
“No,” I say quickly. “Of how much I want to be careful.”
Her mouth curves into a soft, surprised smile. “That’s new.”
“For me too.”
I lower my head and kiss her again, slower still, letting it linger. Letting it settle. When I pull back, her eyes are bright, breath shallow.
My gaze drops without thinking.
To her stomach.
The place where everything has changed.
I hesitate.
