It felt like the entire universe had finally exhaled.
He dropped the duffel bag on the floor, removed his gloves, and then reached into the inner pocket of his jacket and retrieved a small blue pouch. First, I couldn't tell what it was in the dark, but when he offered it to me, I realized it was a pack of ChocoNuts.
I didn't know what to do. "You brought me candy?" I asked, dumbfounded.
He tipped his chin. "Mmm."
"You're not staying long, are you?"
He paused and unzipped his jacket. I couldn't see his mouth, but his eyes flickered. "I was hoping you'd want me to."
I lost it then—crossed the gap and threw my arms around his neck. He was solid and hot under the clothes, and he went perfectly still as I pressed my face to his shoulder. I didn't even care about the fabric still covering his face. I wanted to smell him, to feel the thump of his pulse.
He hugged me back. One arm, hand occupied with candies, banding my rib cage, the other hand cradling the back of my head. We stood like that for a long time, until my shivers subsided and the world felt a little less fragile.
I pulled back just enough to see his face.
He reached up and tugged the bandana down. Himself. His mouth was a tight, uncertain line. He looked at me like he was braced for impact.
"I take it that's a yes," he murmured. "You don't mind my sticking around for a while?"
I nodded frantically.
He dipped his head and kissed me, just once, but it was enough to restart the electricity in my veins. My hands clutched the front of his shirt. I kissed him back, and this time he let it go deeper, more urgent, like he'd been starved for weeks and needed a recharge even though we'd been together just a few days ago.
He tasted like salt and adrenaline and something very male and very mine. And I wanted to do things with him, things I'd never dared to do, things I'd been imagining ever since our night. He'd awoken something wild in me I didn't know existed.
When he finally broke the kiss, he rested his forehead against mine and handed me the candies.
"I don't want you to leave," I choked out, accepting the pack.
"I won't." His thumb stroked my cheek gently. "I'm on vacation."
I blinked. "What?"
"I'm taking some time off work," he supplied.
"Can you?"
"Why not?"
"Wait, you—" I started, then clamped my mouth shut. It was too much to process. "Is that even allowed—seeing me? "
"Of course."
"You're not joking."
"I'm not."
I stared, searching his face for a lie. There wasn't one. "You really mean it?"
He nodded, then slid his hand under my chin. "I don't know how to do this, Kimmy. The regular life," he said, almost apologetic. "But if you're willing to teach me, I'll give it a shot. I'll do it with you."
There were so many things I should have said. Things about trauma, about not being fixed, about all the baggage I'd carry forever. But none of them mattered, because he already knew. He had his own baggage and his own trauma.
And that made us perfect for each other.
53 milo
