The room goes quiet.
My thoughts feel tangled and slow. Part of me wants to argue, to point out the dozens of strategic reasons why that logic makes no sense. But another part of me is too busy trying to process the raw sincerity pouring through the bond.
Ten years is a long time to hold onto anger. Long enough for resentment to become habit, and long enough for hate to feel comfortable.
But being here now, looking at him, feeling the steady certainty of his emotions bleeding through the bond… I realise something uncomfortable.
I don’t hate him anymore. Maybe I haven’t for a while.
My chest tightens again. “You’re an idiot,” I say quietly.
Varek’s brow furrows slightly. “That is not an argument.”
“It’s an observation.”
He studies me carefully. “And yet you do not appear angry.”
I huff weakly. “That’s because I’m too tired.”
The corner of his mouth twitches. For a moment the tension in the room eases slightly. Then the bond pulses again. This time it’s warm, expectant.
And suddenly the words leave my mouth before I can stop them.
“Kiss me.”
Varek freezes. “What?”
“You heard me.”
His gaze drops briefly to the bruising along my jaw. “You are injured.”
“Varek.”
“You should rest first.”
I glare at him. “Shut the fuck up and kiss me already.”
For a second, he just stares. Then something in his expression shifts. He steps forward slowly, cautiously. He lifts one large hand towards my face but stops just short of touching, giving me time to pull away if I want.
I don’t.
His fingers slide gently against my jaw. The contact sends a warm pulse through the bond. Then he leans down.
The kiss starts slow. Careful. His lips brush mine lightly at first, testing the pressure, mindful of the injuries along my mouth. But the moment the contact deepens, the bond surges to life between us.
Heat spreads through my chest… in relief, in recognition. And with something that feels suspiciously like contentment.
I curl my good hand around the front of his armour, pulling him closer.
Varek exhales softly against my mouth, and the kiss deepens even further. It’s still controlled, still careful, but there is unmistakable hunger beneath the restraint.
Ten years of distance. Ten years of unresolved tension. Ten years of stubborn denial. All of it hums beneath the surface of this single kiss.
His thumb strokes lightly along the edge of my jaw. The tenderness in the gesture nearly undoes me.
Eventually we both pull back. Mostly because my lungs decide they need oxygen again. My head feels pleasantly light. Probably a combination of pain, exhaustion, and the emotional chaos of the past few hours.
Varek stays close. His forehead rests lightly against mine for a moment.
