"I love you," he says.
The words are raw. Unguarded. Absolute.
"I have loved you since the moment you climbed onto that massage table and told me to stop being a stubborn ass. I have loved you through every session, every conversation, every moment of vulnerability. And I will love you for the rest of my existence."
Tears stream down my face.
"I love you too," I whisper. "Even though you're an idiot."
"I am aware."
And then he kisses me.
Not gently.
Not carefully.
Desperately.
His mouth crashes against mine with the force of eight hundred years of loneliness finally breaking apart. His hands cradle my face with trembling gentleness, his claws carefully retracted, his entire body shaking with the effort of holding back.
I kiss him back just as desperately.
My hands fist in his shirt. My body presses against his. My tears mix with his as we cling to each other like we're drowning.
His wings tighten around us.
The world outside disappears.
The rain. The broken radiator. The half-packed boxes.
None of it matters.
Because I'm wrapped in warmth and golden light and the absolute certainty that I will never be cold again.
Cyprian pulls back just enough to rest his forehead against mine.
"Come home with me," he whispers.
"Okay."
"I will carry you."
"I can walk."
"I do not care." His arms tighten around me. "I am not letting you go."
I laugh.
It's shaky and tear-soaked and probably a little unhinged.
But it's real.
"Fine," I say. "Carry me."
He stands, lifting me effortlessly, cradling me against his chest like I'm something precious.
His wings stay wrapped around us as he walks out of my apartment, down the stairs, and out into the rain.
