She looks soft. Domestic in a way that should come with warnings. My chest tightens for reasons I choose not to inspect. “Come on,” I say, clearing my throat. “Let’s put you to bed.”
I usher her back inside. She climbs in obediently this time, lying down with zero grace. I lift the blanket over her. Then she grabs my hand. Tightly. I look down. “Stay,” she whispers. “Please.” My heart, once again, behaves irrationally.
So I sit on the edge of the bed. “Hi,” she says.
I laugh softly. “Hi.”
“You have great biceps,” she says casually.
I grin. “Thanks, Sunshine.”
She hums. For a moment we sit in silence, her fingers wrapped around mine. Then I ask quietly, “Why were you at a bar, Ishika?”
She’s silent long enough that I think she’ll ignore me. Then she sits up suddenly and jabs a finger into my chest. “It’s all your fault.”
I blink. “I wasso okaybefore I met you,” she accuses. “Never once did I miss them or feel the need of stupid, irritating humans.”
“You are one too,” I point out, gently catching her finger in my hand.
“No!” she yells.
I stare. “I am not.”
She straightens with dignity. “I am a cat.” Then she meows. I lose it. I laugh so hard I nearly fall off the bed. This night cannot get better. Then I look at her face.
And my laughter dies instantly. Her eyes are shining. Full of tears she’s trying not to let fall. “I hate you,” she whispers. My chest aches. “So much.” Then she leans forward and bangs her forehead against my bicep. I catch her shoulders quickly.
“Okay,” I say softly. “Hate me with all your guts.” She sniffles. “I’m still going to be here.”
I smile at her gently. She frowns at me through watery eyes. “It’s your stupid green eyes,” she mutters. “That’s why I might believe you.” I bite back a laugh. “But I won’t be weak,” she adds sternly.
“Of course not.”
“I will not let you do black magic on me.” That does it. I laugh again. Then lean closer and lower my voice dramatically.
“You are already in my trap, Sunshine.”
She gasps. “I knew it!” I nearly roll off the bed laughing. “You caught me,” I say, wiping my eyes.
She pouts. Then glares. Then yawns. “Okay,” I say, gentling my tone. “It’s very late. Your head is going to hurt a lot tomorrow.” She groans in advance. “You should sleep.”
“Okay,” she huffs. She lies back down obediently. But she doesn’t let go of my hand. Her fingers curl around mine again, smaller and warm and trusting in a way she’d probably deny sober.
I sit there quietly. Watching her breathing slow. Watching her face soften into sleep.
I had planned to slip away once she slept. But I don’t move. Because right now—I think she needs someone there.
And if I’m honest—So do I.
CHAPTER 28
ISHIKA
The sunlight hits me straight in the face like it has personal issues with me. I groan loudly and try to turn away from it, dragging whatever blanket is over me higher. My head pounds instantly in protest. Not a normal headache. This feels targeted. Specific. Like someone opened my skull in the night and replaced my brain with a brick.
What the hell did I do yesterday?
I shift again and realize something else. This bed is extremely comfortable. Too comfortable. Soft mattress. Thick blanket. Pillows that feel expensive. Sheets that don’t scratch. The kind of bed that belongs to someone who has opinions about thread count.
