“Me neither,’ he says, “I keep thinking maybe if I hold you tight enough, the universe will take a hint.”
I laugh, the tiniest, most broken sound, and it turns into a sob before I can stop it. “Don’t make it harder.”
He cradles my face in his hands, pressing his forehead to mine. “Then stop looking at me like that.”
“Like what?”
“Like you might stay.”
My throat burns. “Maybe I would if you asked me to.”
“Layla, I can’t ask you to stay when I only have parts of you,” he says, his voice trembling as his hand continues to hold my cheek.
His calloused thumb traces the curve of my jaw, and I feel the rough edge of his palm trembling against my skin. “I want every part of you,” he breathes. “I want mornings with you. I want more dates.” His voice breaks, and a tear slips free before he can stop it. “I. Want. Everything.”
The tears come quickly, and I reach up to cradle his face as he holds mine. “You’re not supposed to make it easy to leave.”
“I’m not trying to.” His breath stutters as his hands fall to his sides. “I’m just trying not to fall apart before you do.”
I meet his eyes, wet not from the rain but from him holding back tears.
He’s blinking quickly, trying to hide it, but I notice everything—the tremor in his jaw, the way his mouth keeps forming words he can’t speak.
“Reed…”
He tilts my chin with a shaky hand as his thumb traces my bottom lip. “Every time you see the moon,” he whispers, “I’m looking at it, too. Waiting for you, love.”
The sound I make isn’t human. It’s grief and want, tangled into one.
I place my hand on his chest, feeling his heartbeat sync with mine. “Don’t say that,” I beg. “Please don’t.”
He leans in closer, his thumb brushing my knuckles. “I need you to know it,” he says, his eyes flickering between mine.
His chest rises with a shaky breath, then he adds, “I’ll wait for you until you’re ready to leave him so you can come home to me. I’ll wait years if I have to.” His jaw tightens, but his tone stays soft. “So when it gets hard out there, you’ll remember someone’s still here, loving you quietly, even when you can’t hear it.”
I kiss him desperately before he can say more.
Every tear, breath, and unformed memory burns between us.
When we part, our foreheads stay pressed together, the world spinning too fast to catch up.
“I don’t want to go,” I whisper.
He shakes his head, his eyes red from tears. “I don’t want you to go, either.”
I don’t answer. I can’t. I sob into his chest, trembling from tears, cold wind, and rain.
We stand there, his arms around me, the night heavy with everything we didn’t say, but I desperately wanted to.
He presses his face against the crook of my neck, his shoulders trembling with every breath.
I press a kiss into his hair. “Come on,” I murmur. “It’s getting cold.”
He nods as he wraps his fingers around mine.
The door creaks open behind us as we walk hand in hand down the dark hallway, the boards creaking under our steps, every sound too loud in his quiet house.
I reach his room, and we both sit gently on the edge of his bed.
