He didn't resist when I reached for him.
Didn't flinch, didn't freeze.
Just let me guide him closer, slow and careful, until he was curled in my lap like something delicate and exhausted. His cheek pressed against my collarbone. His breath ghosted softly over my throat.
And gods, he was so warm.
So quiet.
Like all he wanted was to feel safe.
My arms wrapped around him without thought.
One hand moved to the back of his head, fingers threading through soft, snow-white hair. The other rested low on his back, cradling him against me like he was made of starlight and spun glass.
Nyx purred so loudly in my mind, it nearly hurt.
Ours. He's finally where he belongs.
I lowered my head and kissed his forehead — just once.
Soft.
Slow.
And he melted.
That fragile tension he carried in his shoulders eased. The rhythm of his breath steadied. His hands curled lightly into my shirt, not holding, just touching.
Like he still wasn't sure he was allowed to take.
Like the weight of affection felt foreign.
And all I could think was:
I left him.
Even if I didn't mean to.
Even if I had no choice.
I left.
"I'm sorry," I whispered again, burying my face in his hair.
His scent overwhelmed me — sweet, trusting, open. But there was still a faint tremble of uncertainty in it. A bruise that hadn't fully healed.
Not yet.
Not completely.
I stroked his hair, slow and rhythmic, trying to will the bond back into something soft again.
"I missed you," I said, voice barely audible. "I thought about you every minute. I hated being away."
He didn't speak.
Didn't need to.
The shift in his scent told me everything.
Hurt and relief braided together like threads in a single pulse.
His body relaxed more fully against me.
I pressed another kiss to the top of his head.
Then I closed my eyes and said the words I didn't want to say.
"But I can't claim you. Not yet."
A pause.
A quiet inhale.
His fingers twitched against my side.
Nyx whined. Why are we telling him no? He's ours.
"Because it wouldn't be safe," I whispered. "Not here. Not while they still think you belong to someone else."
I felt his breath catch.
"I want to," I said. "Gods, Nine, I want to so badly. But if I mark you now, they'll know. They'll know you're mine. And they'll rip us apart."
He shifted against me, not pulling away — just adjusting. Leaning closer, as if trying to understand.
"Your scent… it's already changing," I murmured. "They're going to notice that. They're going to wonder why you react to me like you do."
He stilled.
And I hated the silence.
But I couldn't stop.
"If I give in, if I mark you… I won't be able to hide it. Neither will you."
Nyx growled, low and protective. Then let them come. We'll tear them apart.
I closed my eyes. "You're not ready. And I can't be selfish. I won't let you be punished for something you never chose."
A beat.
Then another.
And then—
He shifted in my lap, just slightly, and tucked his face against my throat.
His body didn't tense.
His scent didn't sour.
He was listening.
Still with me.
Even if he didn't understand everything.
Even if he didn't have the words.
He trusted me.
And that was more than I deserved.
I held him tighter.
Stroked his hair again.
And let the silence wrap around us — warm, fragile, and just for now, enough.