But the humor fades quickly, replaced by something deeper as he leans in again, slower this time.
More certain.
More grounded.
The kind of closeness that isn’t about escape?—
But about connection.
About choosing each other.
Over and over again.
Later, when the room settles again and the quiet wraps around us like something earned, I rest my head against his chest, listening to the steady rhythm of his heartbeat.
“Bron?” I murmur.
“Yeah?”
“We’re really doing this.”
“Looks like it.”
I tilt my head up to look at him.
“No running.”
“No running,” he agrees.
“No chaos.”
He pauses.
“Managed chaos,” he offers.
I narrow my eyes.
“Bron.”
“Fine,” he says quickly. “Minimal chaos.”
I snort softly.
“That’s the best I’m getting, isn’t it?”
“Probably.”
I shake my head, smiling despite myself.
“Alright,” I say.
“Alright,” he echoes.
And for the first time?—
It doesn’t feel like we’re holding something fragile.
It feels like we’re building something strong.
