"Then what do you need?"
His gaze locks onto mine. "I need you to stay when it gets hard. When you get scared and it feels easier to leave — I need you to stay anyway. I need you to fight for this instead of running from it."
"I can do that."
"Can you?"
I step closer, close enough to feel the heat radiating off him. "I'm not asking you to trust that I'll never panic. I'm asking you to trust that I'll stay anyway."
Something finally breaks in his expression.
He reaches for me — then stops, hand hovering between us like he's afraid to touch what he might lose.
"Eli."
"If I let you in again—"
"I'm not going anywhere."
He closes his eyes. Opens them. "Promise me."
"I promise."
That's all it takes.
He closes the distance in two strides and pulls me against his chest, arms wrapping around me hard, like he's afraid I might slip through if he loosens his grip. I press my face into his shirt, breathing him in, anchoring myself there.
He's shaking.
Or maybe that's me.
We stand there, holding on, the past and the future suspended in the same fragile moment.
"I missed you," I whisper into his chest.
His arms tighten. He doesn't say anything. He doesn't have to.
He pulls back just enough to see my face. Both hands cup my jaw, thumbs brushing my cheekbones, studying me like he's memorizing every detail — the freckles across my nose, the way my breath hitches, the tears still wet on my face.
Then he kisses me.
This is different from every time before. This is claiming. This is choosing. No uncertainty about tomorrow, no question of whether I'll still be here when he wakes up. Just five years of want and loss and longing finally allowed to exist without apology.
His hands slide into my hair and I press closer, needing to eliminate every inch of space between us. We stumble toward the bedroom, mouths never breaking apart, hands pulling at clothes with desperate urgency. We don't make it far before my back hits the hallway wall.
"I need you," he says against my mouth.
"Then take me."
We make it to his bedroom somehow. Moonlight streams through the window, casting everything in silver. Once we're there, beside his bed, everything slows.
He reaches for the hem of my shirt, pulls it off deliberately. His eyes never leave mine as he removes each piece until I'm standing bare in front of him. Vulnerable in a way I haven't let myself be in years.
I reach for his shirt. He lets me pull it over his head, lets my hands map his chest, his shoulders. His belt. His jeans. Until we're both standing there with nothing between us.
"I love you."
The words fall between us and everything stops.
