He chose head-on.
He lifted his head slowly, blinking against the morning light filtering through the curtains, and met my eyes. His hair was an absolute disaster. There was a mark on his neck from where I'd bitten him last night. His eyes were still soft with sleep, and he looked younger like this. Vulnerable in a way he never let himself be when he was playing.
“Morning,” he said quietly.
“Morning.”
I made myself say it before I could talk myself out of honesty.
“Last night shouldn't have happened.”
His face shuttered immediately, and I saw him start to pull away.
“But it did,” I continued, softer this time. “And I'm not going to pretend it didn't.”
He stopped moving. “What are you saying?”
“I'm saying I don't regret it.”
He studied my face for a long moment, and I forced myself not to look away. To let him see whatever he needed to see.
“Was it a mistake,” he asked finally, “or are you just scared?”
The question hit like a blade between my ribs.
“Both,” I admitted.
“But?”
“But I'm also scared as hell.” I exhaled slowly. “I'm scared of what it means. What it costs. What it does to my control and my ability to do my job.”
His expression softened. “Okay. So what do we do?”
“For now,” I said slowly, “we don't make any big declarations. We don't punish ourselves for what happened. And we don't pretend it was nothing.”
“For now,” he repeated. “What does that mean?”
“It means one day at a time. It means we figure this out as we go, and we're honest with each other about what we can and can't handle.” I met his eyes. “It means I stop being a bastard to everyone just to create distance between us.”
His mouth quirked slightly. “The team would appreciate that.”
“I imagine they would.” I paused. “I owe them an apology.”
“You do.”
“I know.” I ran a hand over my face, feeling the exhaustion settle into my bones. “I've been cruel. To them. To you. Trying to force distance because I didn't know how else to handle this.”
“And now?”
“Now I try something different.” I pulled him back down against my chest, and he came willingly. “Now I stop trying to control something that's already out of my control.”
We lay there in silence for a while, and I felt something in my chest unclench. Not resolution—we were too far from that. But acceptance, maybe. Or at least the beginning of it.
“We should get up,” I said eventually. “Team's probably wondering where we are.”
“Probably.” But he didn't move. “Five more minutes.”
“Five more minutes,” I agreed.
