“No,” I reply, voice low and heavy. “It’s the start of something better.”
And it is.
I tuck my hand into her hair, fingers running along her scalp, collecting stray droplets. Her skin tastes of warm rain and perfume—light vanilla and something deeper. She catches my wrist and places it over her heart.
“Here,” she says. “Hear this.”
I press my ear. Her heartbeat is strong, sure. I feel it ripple through my palm, through her body, into mine. My own heart trades rhythm, matches it. Skin to skin. Soul to soul.
We stay like that awhile. No words. Just breath. Just us.
Eventually she brushes her lips against the side of my head. “Gyon,” she says—soft, husky. “Let’s stay like this all day.”
I grin. “I’d make the entire galaxy wait for you.”
She laughs—sweet, musical. “Good. Because you’re stuck.”
I close my eyes. Feel her fingers lace with mine. I feel the subtle rise and fall of her chest beneath me. The sheet twists under us. The mattress sighs.
She moves again. Rolls toward me, face to face now. The faint scent of soap lingers on her skin. Warmth floods me. I lean in; she kisses me, light at first. We draw the kiss out. Closer. Deeper. No urgency this time. Just reverence.
“You’re home,” she whispers.
I press a kiss to her forehead. “You are.”
She smiles tiredly. “Can we be done hiding?”
“I’d like that,” I say. “No shadows.”
She nods. She leans in, fingers trailing along the scar at my collarbone, lines left from the Maze. “Your scars,” she whispers, “they’re part of me now.”
My breath catches. “So are yours.”
We stay entangled, the quiet of the room wrapping around us, the world outside dimming. I listen to the faint hum of city life: distant hovercars, a siren somewhere soft, the refrigerator thrumming. I smell fresh sheets, night air slipping through the cracked window, the faint spice of her braid’s flower.
She lifts her head. “Tomorrow the press will hit,” she says, tone practical. “The studio will want statements. The IHC will wait. But tonight—we’re ours.”
“Tonight,” I murmur.
She presses her hand to my chest. “Promise me you’ll keep this.”
“What?” My voice echoes.
“This weight. Our weight. Don’t carry it alone.”
I close my eyes. “I don’t have to.”
“Good.” She leans in, kisses me again.
We drift between words and warmth. At one point, I trace my fingers along the curve of her hip. She shivers. “What are you thinking?” she asks.
I smile. “That I’m the luckiest Reaper in history.”
She sits up, pulls me with her to a sitting position. Our legs wrap together. Her head tucks into my shoulder. “Why?”
“Because I found you,” I reply. “And found her.” I nod toward where her hand is still resting on hers. “And for once, I don’t feel like I have to battle the universe alone.”
Her fingers squeeze mine. “I feel it too.”
