*Trigger warnings* PTSD, depression, anxiety, mass destruction, swearing, major fluff.
The mission was complete. The device was in my possession. The explosion—my doing—had caused a ripple of destruction, but somehow, I had made it out alive.
Alive felt like the bare minimum.
I ran a hand through my hair, pushing it back from my face as I stared at the object in my hands. The device was secure, but the true cost of the mission was harder to pinpoint. What had I risked to get it? Was it worth it?
I tried to swallow down the knot in my throat, but it only grew tighter. The explosion. The burning heat. The sirens. The screaming. That wasn't supposed to be part of the plan.
The building had shuddered under the force of my mistake, and I hadn't known if I'd make it out. It had taken all I had just to push through the burning wreckage, the alarms screaming in my ears. The mission had almost slipped through my fingers.
Almost.
Imani's voice cut through the air, distant but clear. "You're quiet, Cherish. What's going on?"
I gripped the device tighter, as if it might slip through my fingers. "I'm just thinking."
"You're always thinking. You just risked everything to grab that thing. You should be proud of yourself."
"I didn't think I'd make it out," I muttered, more to myself than to Imani. "I didn't think the building would... collapse like that."
Imani was quiet for a long beat before he replied, his voice softer, like he was trying to piece together something unsaid. "Sometimes, you don't know the consequences until they're already happening. That's the part of the job you never get used to."
"Yeah. Well, I'm getting pretty damn tired of it."
There was no real answer to that. No comforting words. I couldn't say what was going through my head—not even to Imani. He'd never seen me like this before, never seen me falter in the way I was now.
The truth was, I'd been so focused on the mission, so determined to prove myself—to everyone—that I hadn't considered what would happen when things went wrong. I didn't consider how it would feel to stand amidst the wreckage of my own decisions.
I didn't consider what it would do to me.
I pulled my jacket tighter around me, more for comfort than warmth. My reflection stared back at me in the dark glass. Eyes wide, hands trembling. I looked different. I wasn't sure if it was from the explosion, or from the way the mission had changed me, but I didn't recognize the person staring back.
Had I really become the person capable of walking through a building going up in flames and not flinch? Was that strength or something darker?
I closed my eyes, pressing a hand to the cold glass. The images from the mission flashed in my mind—the alarms, the chase, the explosion. And under it all—the thought that hadn't left me since I walked out of the rubble: I had succeeded.
But at what cost?
My body felt heavy, like I was carrying the weight of the entire building with me. The mission was over, but the toll it had taken on me hadn't sunk in until now—until the adrenaline had finally started to wear off. I sat at the small table in the corner of the safehouse, my head in my hands. My fingers trembled as I tried to focus on the device I had retrieved, but my mind kept flashing back to the explosion. The sound of the building collapsing, the heat of the fire, the smell of burning metal, and the taste of panic that had crawled up my throat.
I shouldn't have made it out.
That thought kept cycling through my head, like a broken record. I wasn't sure what was worse—the fact that I had barely escaped with my life, or the fact that I had been so focused on the success of the mission that I didn't even think about what could happen if something went wrong. The building didn't just collapse by accident. I had made it happen. I had triggered something I couldn't control.
I don't even know how I survived.
My chest tightened as I remembered the moment when I had sprinted down the hallway, the walls shaking around me. I hadn't stopped to think. I hadn't even considered what I was leaving behind. All I cared about was getting the job done.
But now, in the cold, hollow silence of the safehouse, I felt like I was drowning. The weight of the destruction—the lives that might have been lost, the people who had been inside the building—was starting to suffocate me.
It was irrational, I knew that. I had made it out—and that should've been enough. But it wasn't. The adrenaline was gone, and all that was left was the crushing weight of guilt. The thought that maybe, just maybe, I wasn't as invincible as I had believed.
I slammed my fist down on the table, the sharp sound ringing in the empty room.
I was a mess.
"Cherish, you've got to shake it off. We've got bigger things coming up, you know?" My dad said from somewhere in the home.
I swallowed, but my throat felt dry. I didn't know how to explain to him that I couldn't just shake it off. That the explosion, the lives at risk, and the mission that had gone wrong—it was haunting me.
"Yeah," I finally managed to say. "I'm good."
But I wasn't.
***
It was my choice to stay at the safehouse. Dad had demanded it at first, until all of the commotion died down around the explosion. No one had proof that that my dad's company was behind it, but there were rumors.
Because who else would it be?
No one suspected me–who in their right mind would put their only child on a dangerous mission? Imani had planted evidence to make it look like a suicide bomber. After a few days and multiple news reports, no one questioned it further. I had every reason to go home. But I couldn't.
The safehouse had always felt like a temporary sanctuary, a place to regroup, to plan, to breathe. But now, with the day stretching out before us and the weight of our next steps hanging heavy in the air, it felt more like a cage.
I stood in front of the window, staring out at the quiet street, my reflection mixing with the pale light of the morning. Outside, the world was just beginning to wake up. The streets were empty, the houses still dark, untouched. It looked peaceful. It looked like everything could be normal again. But it wasn't.
Not for me.
My dad's voice came from behind me, firm and matter-of-fact. "Cherish, we need to go. We can't afford to sit here any longer."
I didn't turn around. I couldn't.
I wasn't ready.
I swallowed hard, trying to steady my breath, but my heart was racing. I could feel the fear building in my chest, a slow, suffocating pressure that tightened with every passing second. The thought of leaving this place, of stepping out into the world again, felt impossible.
I couldn't. Not after what had happened.
My thoughts spiraled faster than I could control them, the anxiety tightening its grip on my mind. I clenched my fists, forcing myself to breathe, to stay calm. But my body felt like it was locked in place, frozen.
"You're not going to let this hold you back, are you?" My dad's voice was softer now, more concerned.
I finally turned around, and there he was, standing in the doorway, his expression unreadable. But I could see the worry in his eyes, hidden beneath the surface. He knew something was wrong, and I couldn't hide it from him any longer.
"I can't do it," I said, my voice trembling. "I can't leave here. I'm not ready."
My dad stepped closer, his gaze never leaving mine. He didn't say anything at first, just studied me, waiting for me to find the words. But the more I thought about it, the more I realized I couldn't explain it. How could I explain the overwhelming fear that had taken root in my chest? The fear of stepping back into that world, of facing whatever was coming next?
"It's not just about the mission," I added, my voice barely a whisper. "It's... everything. The explosion, the people I killed, the fact that I almost—"
"Cherish, listen to me." He interrupted, taking another step forward. His voice was calm, steady, but there was an underlying urgency to it that I couldn't ignore. "I know you're scared. Hell, I'm scared too. But you've been through worse. We both have. We don't have the luxury of staying hidden forever."
I shook my head, trying to push past the panic that was rising in my chest. "I'm not like you," I said, the words escaping before I could stop them. "I can't just go out there, like it's nothing. I'm not you!"
My dad swallowed, sensing just how fragile I was, "Miras keeps calling. He's worried about you."
My phone died a few hours after the explosion. I hadn't bothered to charge it, yet alone looked at it. I knew Miras would have called and texted me hundreds of times by now. He would have seen the explosion on the news, and immediately crawled his way over to the nearest phone.
Guilt pummeled me in my chest along with my anxiety about my promises that I had failed to keep. Sure, I was alive, my dad told Miras I was alive. But I hadn't gone back to him.
I didn't want to think about Miras. I couldn't bear the weight of that conversation, the sound of his voice when he first called, frantic with worry. "Cherish, where are you? Please tell me you're okay..."
I closed my eyes, trying to push it all away, but it was impossible. His face flashed in my mind, his expression filled with concern and hope, expecting me to show up after everything had gone wrong. I had failed him, just like I had failed everyone else.
"I need to take this back to the lab," my dad remained by the door. "It needs to be analyzed and–"
"Just go," I cut him off. "I'll be fine."
My dad hesitated, his eyes narrowing as if he was deciding whether to press the issue or let me have this moment. Eventually, he nodded, though his jaw remained tight.
"Call me or Imani if you need anything. Or better yet, call Miras. I know he would love to talk to you."
I nodded, despite not letting his words register.
The house was full of untouched groceries that I hadn't been able to look at. The concept of eating on its own made me nauseous. I had gotten down some water and a few protein bars, but that was it. There wasn't anything to do in the house, seeing as I had unplugged all the TV's and radios, along with the landline. I had done nothing other than sleep for the past week.
My dad, up until now was too afraid to leave me alone incase I had a giant breakdown.
When the door finally clicked shut, a heavy silence settled over the house. I didn't move, still rooted to the spot where my dad had left me. I watched through the window as he walked down the quiet street, his figure shrinking until he disappeared around the corner.
The stillness was suffocating. It gave my thoughts too much space to roam, to dig into the memories I'd been trying to bury. The explosion. The screams. The way the world had seemed to shatter in an instant, leaving nothing but ash and guilt behind.
I turned away from the window and sank onto the worn-out couch in the corner of the room. The air was stale, heavy with the weight of my isolation. I stared at my phone, lifeless and dead on the coffee table, and felt a sharp pang of longing. I wanted to talk to Miras, to hear his voice, but I couldn't bring myself to pick it up.
What would I even say? How could I explain why I had vanished, why I hadn't called, why I couldn't face him.
Why couldn't I face him?
Miras hasn't always seen the best of me. In fact, he had seen me at my worst more than anyone else.
But it wasn't like this. Never like this.
I had never been someone who caused destruction, who walked away knowing others hadn't. Someone who had chosen the mission over innocent lives.
How could I explain that to him?
Sure, I had contributed to the ship's destruction back in December. But that was necessary–no innocent lives were lost.
A whole neighborhood didn't go up in flames.
Whatever my dad found in that cube, it sure as hell wasn't didn't want to be seen.
I stared at the ceiling, the faint hum of silence pressing in on me like a physical weight. The cube. The damn cube. It sat in my mind like a thorn, the center of everything I'd done. Everything I'd lost. Whatever secrets it held had cost people their homes, their lives. And for what? A device that hummed faintly with energy I couldn't begin to understand?
I closed my eyes, trying to force the images away—the flames, the collapsing walls, the terrified faces that blurred into one another. My hands felt dirty, no matter how many times I scrubbed them raw. Every choice I'd made, every step I'd taken, had led to this. And I couldn't even be sure it was worth it.
The sound of my stomach growling cut through the stillness, but I ignored it. The protein bars had been enough to keep me going, but the thought of eating something more substantial felt wrong. Like I didn't deserve it. Survival itself was a luxury I hadn't earned.
The door creaked open, and I sat up sharply, my heart pounding. But it was just Imani, his expression calm but cautious. He held up a bag of takeout, the smell of fried rice and spices filling the room. It was the first time I had seen him since the event.
"Figured you hadn't eaten," he said, setting the bag down on the table.
I didn't respond, my gaze falling to the food. He pulled out two containers and sat across from me, opening one and digging in without another word. Imani always had a way of grounding me, even when I felt like I was spiraling out of control.
After a few bites, he glanced at me. "You're going to have to face it eventually, you know."
"Face what?" I knew exactly what he meant.
"Everything. The explosion, the cube, Miras." He leaned back, his gaze steady. "You can't stay locked up in here forever, Cherish. You're stronger than this."
"I'm not so sure about that," I said, my voice barely audible.
He sighed, running a hand over his head. "Look, I get it. What happened—it's heavy. And it's going to stay heavy. But you don't have to carry it alone. You've got me. You've got your dad. And Miras... he'll understand. More than you think."
I swallowed hard, the knot in my throat tightening. "What if he doesn't?"
Imani smiled faintly, his eyes softening. "He will. Because he knows you. The real you. And he's not going to turn his back on you, no matter what." Imani pushed the second container toward me. "Eat. Then figure out what you're going to say to him. Because you can't keep running forever."
***
The night settled over the safehouse like a heavy blanket, the dim light from the streetlamp outside casting long shadows on the walls. I sat at the table, the empty takeout container pushed aside, staring at my dead phone again.
Imani had left not long after we ate, saying he needed to check in with my dad.
I was prepared for my dad to be gone for a few days, he often was when working on a new case. Imani would check on me a few times a day; making sure I was still somewhat functioning.
My dad made the smart decision to remove any alcohol from the premises, knowing I took after him a little too well when it came to handling stress.
The air in the safehouse felt thick, suffocating. My chest tightened as the familiar weight of panic pressed down on me. I pressed my palms to my temples, squeezing my eyes shut. It was coming again, another panic attack.
A sudden noise broke through the stillness of the silence. The shut off of a car engine, followed by the crunch of gravel. I stood up from the table, wanting to experience my emotional fallout in solitude.
A knock at the door froze me at the bottom of the stairs. Both my dad and Imani had keys, so who the hell was knocking? I waited a few seconds, expecting the sound to be a figment of my imagination. Then it happened again.
I moved to the window, careful to stay in the shadows. A dark sedan idled on the street, its headlights off. My pulse quickened. I reached for the knife I'd kept nearby, my hand shaking as I gripped the handle. My heart was racing, the air suddenly too thin.
"Cherish," the knock came for a third time. "Open the door, Cherie."
"Miras?" I said to myself in disbelief. Last I heard, he was barely moving around on his own. What the hell was he doing here?
The knife in my hand wavered, and I lowered it. My fingers hovered over the lock, ready to turn it, but still hesitating.
"Cherie, please." His voice cracked slightly, and that was enough to make me unlock the door.
When I opened it, he stood there, leaning heavily on the doorframe. His normally sharp features were shadowed with exhaustion, his dark eyes rimmed red as though he hadn't slept. The way he held himself, one arm braced against the wood, told me he was pushing himself to his limit just being here.
"God, Cherish, you look—"
"Don't," I interrupted, my voice hoarse. "Don't say it. You shouldn't even be here."
"Save it." He pushed past me, moving into the safehouse with more determination than his body seemed capable of. "You're not the only one who gets to be stubborn, Cherie."
I closed the door, turning to watch him. He stood in the middle of the room, taking it in—probably noting the signs of my isolation: the dead phone, the empty takeout containers, the thick silence that clung to the place like a fog.
"You shouldn't have come," I said, crossing my arms.
He turned to face me, his gaze steady despite the weariness in his eyes. "And you shouldn't have ghosted me," he shot back, his voice calm but cutting. "But here we are."
My guilt tightened in my throat.
"I didn't ghost you," I said defensively. "I just... needed space."
"Space?" He let out a short, humorless laugh. "Cherish, you blew up a building, disappeared, and left me to piece together whether you were alive from your dad's clipped responses. That's not space. That's running."
His words cut deep, sharper than I wanted to admit. "You don't understand," I said, turning away.
"Then help me understand," he said, stepping closer, his voice softening. "Because all I know is that I'm here, and you're shutting me out."
"You shouldn't have driven all the way here," I said quietly.
"Of course I should've," he countered. "You think I was just going to sit around waiting for you to magically pick up the phone?"
Miras looked over to the table, picking up my dead phone. "When was the last time you checked this?"
"It's been dead for over a week," I muttered.
Miras reached for my charger, but was quickly cut off by my yelling. "Don't!"
"Okay," Miras put down the phone slowly and cautiously. "This is obviously bigger than just the cellphone."
I quickly whipped a tear from my cheek, "I didn't want you to see me like this."
"And what's 'like this' supposed to mean?" he asked, his brow furrowing.
"Like a mess," I said, my voice cracking. "Like someone who—" I swallowed hard, unable to finish.
"Like someone who's been through hell?" he offered. "Because guess what, Cherie? That's what happens when you take on something this big. But you don't have to go through it alone. Look," he said, his tone shifting to something gentler, more pleading. "I'm not here to yell at you. I'm here because I care. Because I was terrified something had happened to you.
There was a pause, and then he exhaled sharply, a mix of relief and frustration. "God, Cherish. I thought... I thought you were—" His voice broke, and I could hear him struggling to compose himself. Miras sighed, his shoulders sagging slightly.
"Cherish, I get it. You don't want anyone to see you like this. But you can't do this alone. You shouldn't have to."
I turned away, unable to face him. "It's not that simple, Miras."
"Isn't it?" he said, stepping closer. "You think I don't know what you're feeling? You think I don't know what it's like to carry the weight of something you can't take back?"
His words hit harder than I wanted to admit. I squeezed my eyes shut, trying to keep the tears at bay. "It's different. This was my fault. People—" My voice broke. "People died because of me."
"And you think I haven't been there? You think I don't carry ghosts of my own? You're forgetting it was supposed to be me in that building, not you. I should have been the one that barely made it out; the explosion should have been my burden. And what if it had been, huh? Would you tell me that I'm a monster? A killer? A terrorist? Someone who deserved to die–"
"Stop, stop, stop!" My hands shot up to cover my ears. Full sobs wrecked my body. I hadn't realized Miras moved towards me until I felt myself within his embrace.
"It's okay," he murmured, his hand running soothingly over my back. "Let it out, Cherie. I've got you."
Miras had an annoying point of being right. If he had been me, if any of it had been him; all I would have cared about was that he was safe.
"You didn't know the building would self-destruct," Miras said as if he was reading my thoughts. "No one could have predicted that. Because who the hell would set off multiple bombs for a single rubik's cube?"
I let out a laugh mixed with a sob, both laughing and crying from the irony. I felt Miras's smirk against my forehead. Without much thought, he pressed his lips into a kiss; sending a wave of bliss through my body.
"How did you even get here–whose car is that?"
"I think it's Imani's? I'm not sure, he just tossed me the keys and told me to go."
"What about the hospital? Your surgery was only a few days ago, you can't have been discharged already?"
Miras shrugged, "all I was doing was sitting in a bed racking up hospital bills. I needed a change of scenery anyway."
"Miras!" I went to swat him in the shoulder then stopped. "You can't–that's not–my dad will pay for your bills! You need to stay at the hospital until the doctor's say you can go home."
"I'm still seeing a doctor, Cherie. Your dad is flying in a physical therapist and a whole team of recovery experts so I can retrieve treatment at your place."
"My place?" I stopped. "You mean like...you're moving in?"
"For a few weeks. It makes it so my aunt can go back to work and I can still receive treatment without being in a suffocating hospital room."
I wasn't sure if it was the thought of Miras moving in or something else that had stopped my crying, "where are you going to sleep?"
Miras smirked, picking up on my obviously suggestive tone, "well your dad said I could have any room I wanted."
"Any room?" I raised an eyebrow, daring him to elaborate.
"Any room," Miras repeated, his smirk growing. He leaned closer, his breath brushing against my ear. "But I think you already know which one I'd prefer."
I rolled my eyes, my cheeks heating despite myself. "You're insufferable."
"And you're adorable when you blush."
"Stop it," I muttered, shoving him lightly in the chest. He winced, and I immediately felt a pang of guilt. "Oh no, I'm sorry! Did I hurt you?"
He chuckled, waving it off. "I'm fine, Cherie. You'll have to try harder than that to break me."
His words were teasing, but the weight of everything we'd been through lingered between us, unspoken. I studied his face, noting the faint lines of pain etched around his mouth and the dark circles under his eyes. He looked like someone who had walked through hell and was still standing, barely.
"You should really be resting," I said softly.
"And miss this?" Miras gestured around us, his grin faltering slightly. "Miss you?"
The vulnerability in his voice caught me off guard, and for a moment, all I could do was stare at him. Despite the bravado, Miras was just as broken as I was, maybe even more so. And yet, he was here, standing in front of me, offering comfort when he needed it just as much.
"You're an idiot," I said finally, my voice cracking.
"An idiot who loves you," he countered, and just like that, the tension between us dissolved.
I let out a shaky laugh, shaking my head. "You're impossible."
"And yet, you're still here." He tilted his head, his expression softening. "So, what do you say, Cherie? Think you can handle me being around all the time?"
I hesitated, the weight of the question sinking in. It wasn't just about sharing space; it was about everything that came with it—the trauma, the healing, the possibility of something more.
But then Miras smiled, that lopsided grin that somehow made everything feel a little less heavy, and I knew my answer.
"I think I can manage," I said, a small smile tugging at my lips.
"Good," he replied, his voice warm. "Because I'm not going anywhere."
Miras was still sleeping beside me the next morning. Last night, he had helped me pack my things and move out of the safehouse and back into my home. The maids had made my bed, organized and cleaned my room; but it still felt too similar to the night of the mission.
It was strange having him here, in my space, but also comforting. The events of the past week had left me feeling hollow, like the world had shifted beneath my feet. Yet, with Miras so close, I felt a flicker of something familiar.
I shifted slightly, trying not to wake him, but his eyes fluttered open anyway. He blinked a few times, disoriented, before his gaze landed on me.
"Morning," he murmured, his voice rough with sleep.
"Morning," I replied softly. "How'd you sleep?"
"Better than I have in weeks," he admitted, stretching carefully to avoid aggravating his injuries. "I could get used to this."
I rolled my eyes, but I couldn't stop the smile tugging at my lips. "Don't let it go to your head."
"Too late," he teased, propping himself up on one elbow. He winced slightly, and I frowned.
"Are you sure you should be moving like that?"
"Cherie," he said, his tone exasperated but fond. "I'm fine. You don't have to hover."
"I'm not hovering," I protested, crossing my arms.
"You're absolutely hovering," he shot back with a grin.
We fell into a comfortable silence, the kind that felt natural despite everything. Then, as if remembering something, Miras's expression shifted.
"Hey, about last night..." His voice trailed off, and he looked away, suddenly serious. "I didn't mean to put all of that on you. I know you're carrying enough as it is."
I sat up, shaking my head. "Miras, stop. You don't have to apologize for being honest with me. If anything, I needed to hear it. I've been so caught up in my own guilt that I forgot I'm not the only one dealing with the fallout."
His eyes met mine, searching, and then he nodded. "Still, I don't want you thinking you have to take care of me. We're in this together, okay?"
"Okay," I said, though the word felt heavier than it should have.
A knock on the door broke the moment.
"Cherish? Miras?" My dad's voice came through, tentative but firm.
Miras shot me a look, his eyebrows raised. "Think he's ready to kick me out yet?"
I smirked. "If he was, I think he'd use a lot more yelling."
"Good point."
I got up, opening the door to find my dad standing there, his face a mix of concern and something else I couldn't quite place.
"I ordered breakfast," he said, glancing past me to where Miras was still lounging in bed. "Thought you two might need it after...everything."
"Thanks, Dad." I stepped aside to let him in, but he didn't move.
"Can I talk to you for a moment? Alone?"
I hesitated, glancing back at Miras. He gave me a small nod, as if to say it was okay.
"Sure," I said, stepping into the hallway.
As soon as the door closed behind us, my dad turned to me, his expression unreadable.
"I know you care about him," he began, his voice low. "But are you sure about this? About letting him stay here?"
"Yes," I said firmly. "He needs a place to heal, and I want to help him."
"And you?" he asked, his eyes narrowing slightly. "What do you need, Cherish? Because I don't want you to lose yourself in all of this."
His words hit harder than I expected. "I'll be okay," I said, though I wasn't sure if I believed it.
He studied me for a long moment before sighing. "Just...be careful, okay? Both of you have been through a lot. Don't let it destroy you."
"I won't," I promised, though the weight of his words lingered as I reentered the room.
Miras looked up at me, his expression questioning, but I just shook my head. "Breakfast is on its way," I said, forcing a smile.
He didn't press, instead patting the space beside him. "Good. Now come back to bed."
I hesitated, then climbed back in, letting the comfort of his presence drown out the doubts swirling in my mind.
The breakfast arrived twenty minutes later, a spread so extravagant it could have fed a small army. My dad, always one to overcompensate when he didn't know how to handle a situation, had gone all out—fresh pastries, fruit platters, scrambled eggs, bacon, and even a stack of golden pancakes dripping with syrup.
"Are we celebrating something?" Miras asked as I wheeled the cart in. He sat up straighter, the smell of food clearly reviving him.
"My dad's way of showing concern," I replied with a small smile, handing him a plate.
"Concern tastes delicious," he quipped, immediately piling his plate high. "I uh...I heard about what happened with you and Nakita, how you kicked her ass in the hospital hallway."
I felt my face flush at the mention of Nakita. It was hard to ignore the image of her sneering face, the way she'd taunted me when I was at my most vulnerable. I hadn't planned on confronting her like that, but when I saw her in that hallway—gloating over Miras's condition, her words cutting like blades—it was as if everything snapped.
"Yeah, well, she had it coming," I said, trying to brush it off, though my voice was tight. I set the tray down and sat beside Miras, unsure of how much to say.
"Seems like the universe is testing you lately," Miras said, his voice soft, but there was a playful glint in his eyes as he reached for another pancake.
"I guess I'm passing every test with flying colors," I muttered, though there was no humor in it. My mind kept flashing back to the confrontation with Nakita, the way her face twisted in disbelief when I punched her.
"My aunt said you hurt her pretty badly. She was unconscious and bloody? The hospital security had to drag you off of her..."
"I just... I was angry. And she made me snap."
Miras didn't say anything for a moment, just chewed thoughtfully on his bacon. Finally, he broke the silence, his voice quieter this time. "Cherie, I get it. But I don't want you to let her get to you. Not like that. You're better than that."
I gave him a tight smile, though it didn't quite reach my eyes. "It's easy for you to say. You weren't the one who had to deal with her."
"I don't need to deal with her. I've got you." Miras's voice softened, and he placed a hand over mine on the table, his thumb brushing across my skin. His words were simple but reassuring, and it gave me a fleeting sense of peace.
"At some point, we'll have to go back to school," I brought up the topic I had been dreading: school. "We'll have to face her, the guys who jumped you. I'm pretty sure the entire school knows about it."
"I'm not exactly excited about it either," Miras said as he chewed. "But there's only a few more months left until we graduate, and then we never have to see these assholes again. We'll buy a penthouse, close to MIT, you'll have your internship with Nasa and everything will be ok."
I closed my eyes, absorbing myself in the idea, "that sounds nice."
"We'll go back to school together," Miras suggested. "Neither of us should have to go back alone."
I let myself relax back into Miras's arms, letting out a sigh of relief as he pulled me into his chest. But with each comforting motion he did, a question burned in my chest.
"Miras, what are we?"
Miras stiffened slightly, his hand still resting on mine, but his touch became more deliberate as he seemed to gather his thoughts. For a moment, I felt the weight of the question hang in the air between us, unspoken but heavy with the uncertainty of everything we had been through. I could feel his heartbeat against my back, steady and reassuring, but now there was a slight tension that I hadn't noticed before.
"What do you mean?" he asked quietly, his voice low, as if he hadn't quite expected me to ask. His fingers brushed my skin again, a gentle reassurance that he wasn't pulling away, but the hesitation in his words made me wonder if he was struggling with the answer.
I shifted slightly in his arms, just enough to look up at him. I saw a flicker of vulnerability in his eyes. "I mean... with everything that's happened. The way we've been... together. I don't know how to say this, but I need to understand. Are we just relying on each other to get through this? Or is there more to it?"
Miras sighed softly, his thumb grazing over my hand again. "I didn't expect you to ask this today," he muttered, almost to himself. But after a beat, he met my gaze, his eyes serious. "But I guess, if we're being honest... I think we're more than just getting through it. I don't know if that's the answer you want, but... I can't ignore how I feel about you."
His words were quiet, but there was something in them—something raw—that made my heart skip a beat. He hadn't said much, but what he did say felt like a truth I wasn't ready to confront yet. He pulled me a little closer, and I felt his breath against my hair as he spoke again. "I care about you. More than I probably should, especially with everything going on. And I know it's messy, and I know we've both got our shit to deal with... but I'm here. And I don't want you to think I'm going anywhere."
I didn't know what we were, and maybe I wasn't sure how we could keep going like this, but I didn't want to pull away from him either. "I feel the same," I whispered, my voice barely audible.
"We don't have to know everything right now," he said gently. "I'm here for the ride, whatever it looks like. We'll figure it out together."
"I think I'll hold you to that."
His thumb traced a soft line across my wrist, his gaze steady. "You can. I'm not going anywhere. I'll be right here, always."