I glance up from the couch, legs kicked out, one hand resting on my stomach.
“Bout time,” I chuckle. “Thought I was gonna have to send a search party.”
Haven smirks. “Would’ve been the most chaotic rescue attempt of all time.”
Carter runs a hand through his hair. “Your turn. We left you some hot water.”
“Generous,” I deadpan, pushing to my feet. “You two didn’t fog the mirrors into another dimension?”
Carter rolls his eyes. Haven just grins.
I walk past them, then pause at the hallway with a glance over my shoulder. “I’m crashing on the couch, by the way.”
Haven raises a brow. “Still not ready to sleep in the same bed as your brother?”
Carter chokes on his water.
I shrug. “Not unless you wanna hold hands.”
Carter flips me off. Haven outright laughs, her towel slipping slightly off one shoulder.
“Whatever helps you sleep at night,” she teases.
I point at her as I back toward the bathroom. “This mouth is gonna get you in trouble.”
“Already has.”
I shut the door behind me, but I’m still smiling when I step under the water.
The couch is too fucking quiet.
Not in a peaceful way. Not in a sleepy, post-shower, way. No. It’s that hollow kind of quiet, but the kind that hums at the base of your spine and makes your skin too aware of the space around it. The kind that creeps into your chest like fog and makes everything ache a little sharper than it should.
I’m on my back, one arm thrown across my eyes, blanket tangled around my legs like a half-assed shield. The room’s still warm from the steam drifting out of the hallway. I can hear Carter’s voice through the cracked bedroom door followed by Haven’s laugh.
I could get up. I could knock on the door. I could make a stupid joke, but I don’t. I stay here, still and silent, pretending I’m already asleep. I almost convince myself I am, until I hear the faintest creak of the floor.
She doesn’t say anything. Doesn’t announce herself, just moves with that barefoot-soft grace I’ve memorized. She’s always trying not to disturb the room, even when she is the room. She stops at the couch.
My pulse stutters, I keep my breathing even. My eyes closed.
Then her hand, so gentle I almost doubt it’s real sinks into my hair. Just her fingertips at first, combing once through the front, then back again. It’s not rhythmic, not calculated. It’s just honest, the kind of touch that asks for nothing, that gives without a single demand in return. I don’t think she even realizes she’s doing it.
But it unravels me. Slowly, quietly and painfully. I’ve never been handled like this before. Like I’m not dangerous. Like I’m not made of sharp edges and bad decisions. Her touch lingers. Trails down until her palm rests briefly against the side of my face. That’s what breaks me. Not loud, or visible. But deep, a fault line in the center of my ribs that finally splits.
I speak before I can stop myself. “You’re the only thing I don’t want to lose.”
My voice barely clears my throat. Rough, it’s been clawing to get out for days and only just found the air to do it.
She freezes. I feel it—the way her breath catches. The way her hand stiffens, then curls softly in my hair again.
I don’t open my eyes. I don’t move. If I look at her now, I’ll fucking crumble. And the truth is, I’ve been holding my shit together with duct tape and spite for years. For her, I’m trying to be something better. But this? This moment right here? It strips me to bone.
She leans down, slow and careful, like she’s afraid I’ll pull away if she moves too fast.
Then I feel her lips soft and warm press against my temple. She stays there. She doesn’t say anything or push. Doesn’t ask for more than I can give.
She just… rests there. Her forehead against mine. Her hand in my hair, her other arm sliding gently over my chest like she can feel my heart trying to punch its way out.
