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I grin, watching him study the old pavement with that curious glint in his eyes. It’s so rare to see him unleash his inner nerd. “Well, it wasn’t our battle, and yet, we lost so many soldiers for it.”
“Do you honestly believe that?” He gives me a curious look.
“Yes, the French got themselves into that mess. We didn’t have to act like knights in shining armour.”
“We were anything but. That’s called a precedent fight, Butterfly. We were going to get involved anyway, so we made the first move and fought the enemy on foreign soil. Those types of battles happened many times over the course of history, like in the Ottoman Empire’s colonisation wars, or the Persians against the Romans.”
“You’re such a nerd.”
He releases my hand and tugs me to the crook of his body by the waist. It’s the first time he’s touched me so possessively in public. It’s almost as if he’s announcing his ownership. “Who are you calling a nerd, Butterfly?”
“You.” I hide my smile. “I bet you can give accurate retellings and even recite what those generals said before every battle.”
“Of course I can. The pre-battle part is the most important. That’s the moment before death. Before chaos.”
Cole called me his chaos before, and I still don’t know whether that’s a good or a bad thing. Since he associates it with death, it’s clear on which side it falls. My heart shrinks as I try to fight off the feeling.
“It’s beautiful,” he says.
“Beautiful?”
“Yes. It’s the unknown, and the unknown can be the most beautiful thing.”
“Or the most horrible one.”
“You never know at that moment. When troops stand there listening to their generals, they don’t know whether they’ll die, be injured, or stay alive. They don’t know if they’ll see their families again or if it’s all over. It’s human nature at its truest form.”
“It’s called survival.”
“It’s called life.” He brushes his lips against my nose. “It’s chaos.”
My heart thumps so hard, I’m scared it’ll stop beating or something.
Oh, shit.
I’m not supposed to be so caught up in him like this. I’m not supposed to wish I’m still his chaos and that he’ll never ever find a replacement.
“Do you want to do something chaotic?” I bite my lower lip.
“Like what?”
I motion at a tattoo parlour across the street from which a couple are exiting, appearing half happy, half in pain.
He raises a brow. “You want to get a tattoo?”
“Together. You and I.” It’s a crazy idea, but I want to commemorate this moment. I want to remember the pain, but also the way Cole held me through it.
We’ll eventually go home, and I want to keep the moment where we got to hold hands in public as a permanent reminder of today.
I expect him to refuse since Cole isn’t the type who likes to mark skin — at least not permanently, but then he says, “I get to choose what you put on your skin.”
I jut my chin. “And I get to choose what you put on yours.”
His lips tilt in a charming smile. “Deal.”
In the parlour, we decide to get tattoos on our sides since they can be easily hidden by clothes. Cole demands that the woman take care of me, not the man. Which is fine by me since that means she won’t be touching him.
Two hours later, and after so much pain that almost brought me to tears, we stand in front of each other in the middle of a room with dark walls.
