Because apparently I’ve stopped fighting the things I want. I sit down, a little more carefully than I used to, aware of his injury without making a big deal out of it. He notices anyway. He always does.
“See?” he murmurs, watching me. “You’re getting nicer.”
“Don’t get used to it.”
“Too late.”
I shake my head, but there’s no real irritation behind it. Just…comfort. We sit like that for a minute. This used to be the kind of thing I avoided. Now it feels like…rest. I glance at him only to find him looking at me. “What?” I ask.
“Nothing.”
“That didn’t look likenothing.”
“It wasn’t,” he admits, his voice quieter now. “I just like looking at you.”
I roll my eyes automatically, but my chest doesthatthing again. That annoying, warm, traitorous thing.
“You’re ridiculous.”
“And you’re avoiding the compliment.”
“I’m not avoiding anything.”
He hums, like he doesn’t believe me. He probably shouldn’t. Because I am. Not the compliment. Something else.
Something that’s been sitting at the edge of my thoughts for days now, pressing in a little harder every time he looks at me like that. Every time he says my name like it belongs somewhere safe. Every time he does something stupid and reckless and then smiles like he’d do it again without thinking twice.
I hate how much that affects me. I hate how much he affects me. And I hate that I don’t want it to stop.
I shift slightly, turning toward him more fully, my knee brushing against his. He notices. His gaze sharpens just a little. “What are you thinking?” he asks.
I exhale slowly.
Because this—This is the part I’m bad at. The part where things stop being easy. Where words matter too much. Where saying something out loud makes it real in a way that can’t be taken back.
“I think…” I start, then stop. He doesn’t interrupt. “I think you’re very annoying,” I say finally.
His lips twitch.
“I’ve been told.”
“And reckless.”
“Also true.”
“And you don’t listen.”
“I’m sensing a pattern here.”
“And you have absolutely no self-preservation,” I continue, ignoring him now, my voice steadier than I feel.
He watches me more closely. Like he knows this isn’t just me complaining.
“And I don’t like any of that,” I add.
A pause.
Then, softer—“But I don’t want you to change it either.”
