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Resting lightly against his chest.
Careful.
Avoiding the injury.
Always aware.
“You should be resting,” I say.
“I’m fine.”
“You’re not.”
“I’ve had worse.”
I give him a look.
He almost smiles.
Again.
“This is how you deflect,” I say.
“And this is how you push.”
“Someone has to.”
“Yeah.”
A beat.
Then—
His hand comes up.
Slow.
Deliberate.
Like before.
But this time—
There’s no hesitation.
His fingers brush my jaw.
Tilt my chin just slightly.
Not forcing.
Asking.
Always asking.
“This is still a bad idea,” I whisper.
“Yeah,” he says.
