I close my eyes and hold him tighter.
Until me.
We crawl into bed moments later, bare skin against bare skin, his forehead on my shoulder and his hand folded over my heart.
It’s always been the staying. The soft landing is the point.
Hayden’s breath evens out against my chest, damp and tangled beneath the sheets, like maybe he’ll sleep after all. But he doesn’t.
Instead, he pulls back enough to look at me. His eyes aren’t heavy now, just curious. Clear in a way I don’t think I’ve seen before.
Then, softly: “Are you hungry?”
I blink, surprised. “I…maybe?”
He sits up, blanket pooling around his waist. “Don’t move.”
And he disappears down the hall.
17
Hayden
I am naked inthe kitchen, assembling charcuterie.
It’s a ridiculous sight, really. Me, barefoot on cold tile, slicing the good cheese with the focus of a man who’s spent his existence preparing bodies for funerals. But instead of satin-lined caskets and death certificates, I’m folding prosciutto into tidy curls and placing them beside dried apricots for a man who just made my shadows purr.
Which is…insane.
I don’t do this. Snacks after a shower. Letting someone care for me. Melting under warm water and soft fingers.
He washed my hair.
That shouldn’t undo me, but it does. Not the physicality of it, not even the intimacy of being touched. But the intention. The care. The way his fingers moved through my hair like it was something gentle. Like I was something worth tending to. Being held together is easy. Being held is work that I’m attempting.
And now I’m preparing a dairy-heavy snack in the buff because that’s the logical next step when someone touches you like that. Because I don’t know how else to thank him. Gratitude feels new on me. I’m better at dignities than thank-yous.
The tray is absurd…cheese, olives, forgotten fig jam. I uncork a bottle of red, then carry everything back to the bedroom, pausing in the doorway. He’s lying there, propped up on one elbow, sheets tangled low around his waist, eyes soft and sleepy. He blinks at me…and the tray balanced in my hands.
Levi grins. “You brought a cheese board…naked?”
I set the tray on the mattress. “Would you prefer pants?”
His eyes rake over me and then settle somewhere south of polite. “Not even a little.”
I pour the wine and pass him a glass. We sit in silence for a few moments, our thighs barely touching. The intimacy isn’t gone. It’s just softer now. He nibbles on a cracker and glances at me over the rim of his glass.
“You okay?” he asks, voice low.
I nod. Then pause. “Mostly. But how did you know I needed that? The shower. The…” I gesture vaguely toward the hallway, like the intimacy we just shared is beyond reach.
Levi shrugs. “I don’t know. I just…saw you. You looked like you were holding yourself together by sheer force of will.”
“I was.”
He smiles. “You needed someone to take care of you. So, I did.”
I study him. “But how did you know?”
