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‘But—’

‘Tell me something you want to say. You can tell me what you need to tomorrow or the day after. But today, just tell me what you want.’

I see the war he wages too. He’s braver than me, it’s true. But he is not a better man. We’re both selfish enough to lie in a way that will enable whatever this is between us. Even if it’s wrong.

The war is won in the single second his eyes soften and his hands stall my own.

‘You once asked me who I want to be,’ he says. ‘I want to be the man who calls you lovely. I want to be the one to quiet every self-doubt. I want you exactly as you are. I want you so much, Miller, it kills me.’

I begin to smile, to redirect, to ease the tension, ‘But you’re already⁠—’

‘Don’t. Don’t deflect what I’m saying with humour because you don’t know how to hear someone confess their feelings for you.’

I swallow. He watches me like I’m a meal put before a man, starved.

‘Be mine,’ he says, no humour in his eyes.

The makings of a smile begin on my lips. ‘Be your what?’ I create space to study his face. A flutter begins in my stomach that migrates to my chest until it’s almost hard to breathe. I can’t tell if I like it. The strain feels familiar and it scares me. There’s part of me, I think, that will always look back over my shoulder in fear of what it feels like to care, and to lose. But my regret to see things through outweighs my fear of all the ways it could go wrong. Or maybe he’s just worth the risk.

Walker pulls me back against him. And when I look up, he’s right there for the taking. So willingly vulnerable, it almost feels like a trap. My skin scratches against the fibres of his suit jacket. So real. He feels so real. I wish he was.

When I look at him, I think I can see a bit of the afterlife. I can see a bit of mine.

‘Just be mine.’ He stares at me like eternities already written.

I open my mouth. But would I stutter? I don’t want to. I want everything about this lie to seem perfect.

As it turns out, some things don’t need to be said… or even known or written. I put my lips to his. They feel like coming home. They feel like rain in a drought. Kissing him feels like learning to breathe in a different way, it feels far more sustainable than any breath I’ve ever felt fill my lungs.

The grass doesn’t move, the trees don’t swing, the stars don’t shine. Because nothing exists but this. This fragile thing. This soft and gentle thing that will end too soon. I don’t want to think about anything else but this.

My heart feels too full. A wonderful problem, to be sure. But a problem nonetheless. If we don’t move soon, I might combust. And if I combust, it’ll be over and that just won’t do. But then I feel his tongue trace my lip line, before the space is reclaimed by those needy lips. Those hungry lips that seem to devour my breaths that took all my life to claim.

A nip of teeth pulls, and I yelp. Opening one eye, I see his gaze alight. Not with scorn or spite, but with mischief and affection. I think it might be my favourite sight.

His kisses feel like they’re smiling, and I’m sure mine do too. My careful hands are gentle to explore the expanse of his chest, while calloused fingers grip my hips and pull them into his. He swallows my gasp like a man parched for water. I try to take it back like a woman of the same affliction.

On the brink, nothing seems sufficient. And in the same vein, it feels all too much. If this moment were to last forever, it would end too soon. I’ll grieve every second that isn’t like this. I’ll mourn the rest of my days knowing what it’s like to love, and cursed to know that it isn’t enough.

So, when he presses closer, I take full advantage of the things that come before grief and mourning. I do the same, I press back against him and I relent to the sounds I make in an endeavour to speak my pleasure and call his name, but somewhere fall short between the lust and the haze.

When he groans, I feel the sound. Capture it and swallow it, in lieu of bottling it.

Our clothes are quick to go. I don’t know who undresses who or what. But there’s a heap on the ground between us and we’re both panting and naked. I take him in. All lean hard lines, tall and sculpted. He is the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen. He makes me question if eyes were even worth having before seeing him. Before now, every sense I’ve ever had has been passive. Now, I feel alive.

Walker takes the first step. Not one to be outdone, I take two.

He smirks, knowing exactly what game I’m playing. And then he wins in all of two seconds when he closes the remaining distance and kisses me so deeply, I feel it in my soul. ‘Stars, Miller,’ he speaks against my lips. ‘If you knew how much I’ve wanted this…’

‘Show me.’

It doesn’t take much. He lifts me against him, and I’m ready when he sinks into me like an anchor diving into the sea.

I gasp; he groans.

‘Can you feel this?’ I pant.

His lip quirks up at the corner and he huffs. ‘Smart arse.’ He slaps my behind and I tense. We both moan in time to the way I grip him like a vice. Walker’s head falls to between my neck and shoulder and I feel his kisses lazily trailing my collar.