Boone lowers himself beside me once the fire is settled, his bulk easing down with care so he doesn’t jostle me. He’s in his cryptid form again. I’ve come to recognize it as his default when he’s tired, or when he’s thinking. Or when he trusts the space enough to be himself without apology.
That last realization sends a thrill through me.
“You’re quiet,” he rumbles.
I smile into the fur at his shoulder. “Processing.”
“Dangerous,” he says mildly.
“Extremely.”
I roll onto my side, propping myself up on an elbow so I can look at him properly. Firelight dances through his fur, picking out warm reds and deep browns, catching in the planes of his face and the glow of his eyes. He looks… settled. Grounded. Likewemake sense to him.
The realization leaves my chest warm enough to ache. “Boone?” I ask.
“Yes.”
“Do you ever…” I hesitate, then laugh softly at myself. “Never mind.”
He turns his head slowly, fixing me with a look that says he’s already clocked the emotional evasiveness. “You don’t ask questions lightly.”
I wince. “You’re learning my tells, huh?”
“I’m observant.”
“I’m aware.” I inhale, then exhale, choosing my words with care. “Do you ever think about… after?”
“After what?”
“After the Solstice. After the road. After… this.”
His gaze sharpens, but he doesn’t pull away. “Yes,” he says simply.
The ease of the answer startles me.
“Oh,” I manage.
He studies my face, reading far more than I’m saying aloud. “You’re worried.”
“I’m realistic,” I counter weakly.
“Those aren’t the same thing.”
I snort, then sigh. “I know. It’s just—if I were watching someone else do this, get this tangled up this fast, I’d want to shake them. Tell them to slow down. To breathe.”
He considers that. “And do you want to slow down?”
The question lands squarely.
I open my mouth. Close it. Open it again. “No,” I admit. “I don’t.”
His eyes soften, relief flickering there before he reins it in. “You’re allowed to feel what you feel,” he says quietly. “You don’t have to justify it to me.”
That shouldn’t undo me as much as it does.
I shift closer, leaning into his side, my cheek resting against the thick fur of his shoulder. He adjusts immediately, angling his body to give me more support, one arm curving around me in a way that feels instinctive.
Protective.
