Chapter 20
Nikolai
I woke to light creeping in through the blinds, painting lazy gold across the sheets.
Mina was curled into my chest, legs tangled with mine, her breath warm against my skin.
Everything about her felt soft—quiet, content—like the world outside didn’t exist. I didn’t move.
Didn’t want to. There was a stillness here I wasn’t used to, and I wasn’t about to break it.
I lowered my head and pressed a kiss to her bare shoulder, letting it linger longer than I should have.
Her skin was warm, smooth, familiar in a way that unsettled me.
She stirred, and when her eyes met mine, there was that sleepy smile—the one that knocked the air from my lungs every damn time.
I didn’t know what to do with it. All I knew was that it made something in my chest twist tight.
“Morning,” she mumbled, her voice thick and unguarded.
“Yeah.” I barely got the word out. It felt like speaking might wake me from something I wasn’t ready to leave.
She shifted closer, settling into me like she belonged there—like I was something solid she could lean on.
I wrapped my arm around her tighter. Her warmth bled into me, grounding me in a way I hadn’t realized I needed.
I brushed a lock of hair from her face, memorizing every inch.
The curve of her cheek. The faint crease near her lips from sleeping on her side.
She looked peaceful. Like someone who had finally found stillness. Or maybe I was projecting.
“What time is it?” she murmured.
I didn’t answer right away. Just kept watching her, committing this to memory. “Don’t worry about it.”
She smiled again, eyes half-lidded. “You’re such a bad influence.”
“Probably,” I murmured, tracing slow circles on her back with my fingers. Her skin was silk under my touch, and every pass reminded me just how close we’d become—and how easy it had been to get here. Too easy.
This—her, us—it was quiet, yes. But it was also dangerous. Because the longer I stayed like this, the harder it would be to walk away. And I wasn’t sure I ever wanted to.
“Tell me something,” I said, not even sure what I wanted her to say—just that I wanted to hear her voice, just a little longer.
“Like what?” she asked, eyes barely open, voice laced with sleep and curiosity.
I shifted slightly, my hand still moving slow patterns across the small of her back. “What you’re thinking about right now.”
She hesitated, just for a second. Then, “About how this feels… how safe you make me feel.”
Those words hit harder than any check I’d ever taken. My fingers stilled. Safe. I’d spent most of my life being the threat in the room, the one people watched from the corner of their eye. And now here she was, tucked against me like I was shelter instead of danger.
“Safe?” I repeated, like maybe if I said it out loud I’d believe it.
She nodded into my chest. “Yeah. Like I can be myself without fear.”
The room went still. That quiet kind of still where nothing dares to move because something too important is hanging in the air. I leaned down, kissed her shoulder again—softer this time. Slower. Not out of hunger, but reverence.
“I’ll miss you,” I said, the words tasting unfamiliar but true.
Her eyes found mine, and whatever was in them made it hard to breathe. There was no fear there. No hesitation. Just something wide open and real.
“You don’t even have to leave yet,” she whispered with a faint smile.
I inhaled through my nose, the answer heavy on my chest. I didn’t want to lie. Didn’t want to promise things I couldn’t control. But I also couldn’t let this—us—get reduced to some countdown clock.
“It's still too soon,” I said. Steady. Sure.
She smiled, but it had an edge—sweet but unsure, like she was already bracing for impact. I didn’t blame her.
I tilted my head until our foreheads met, my hand sliding up to her jaw. “For now,” I murmured against her lips, “let’s just stay here.”
Because I wasn’t ready to let her go. Not yet. Maybe not ever.
I kissed her slowly, deliberately, like I had all the time in the world and nowhere else to be but here—wrapped around her, grounded by her warmth.
She sighed into me, soft and sure, her fingers curling at the back of my neck like she was holding on to something real.
And she was—because this wasn’t just desire.
This was something deeper, quieter. Something that settled into my bones like truth.
I moved with care, letting every brush of my hands, every kiss along her collarbone, say the things I didn’t know how to speak.
She wasn’t just beneath me—she was everywhere.
In my chest. In the air between our mouths.
In the beat of my heart that felt too fast and too certain for someone who once swore he didn’t need anyone.
Her eyes locked with mine, wide and open, no walls between us.
That vulnerability undid me more than any moan or gasp ever could.
I leaned in, resting my forehead against hers, our breaths tangling like vows we hadn’t said yet.
This wasn’t about the rush. It was about the way her body folded into mine like a question with only one answer.
Like she’d been waiting for this kind of softness and didn’t quite know how to trust it—until now.
And when we moved together—slow, steady, like a tide that knew its way home—it wasn’t about possession. It was about presence. Being here. With her. In this moment that felt like the only thing that had ever made sense.
We came undone together, not with a roar but with a quiet unraveling—like two threads woven so tightly they could only break at the same time.
Her fingers dug into my back, her breath catching against my neck, and I felt her fall apart beneath me as I let go too—no walls, no armor.
Just her name on my lips like a prayer, like a promise.
The world faded until there was nothing but the rush of blood in my ears and the heat of her skin pressed against mine, grounding me in something that felt dangerously close to forever.
Afterward, I wrapped my arms around her and pulled her close, chest to chest, heart to heart. She fit there perfectly, her face tucked beneath my chin, her breath warm against my collarbone.
I held her like she might slip through my fingers if I eased up for even a second—like if I let go, I’d lose more than just her. I’d lose whatever it was she’d stirred awake in me. So I stayed there, clutching her to me like she was the first real thing I’d ever known.
I swung my legs over the edge of the bed, immediately regretting it as the cold hardwood kissed my bare feet.
The warmth of the sheets still clung to my skin like a phantom, and for a moment, I considered crawling back in—back to her.
But the clock didn’t care that I wanted to stay.
The road trip loomed, ticking closer with every heartbeat.
I ran a hand through my hair, exhaling a breath I didn’t remember holding.
The last few days with her had unraveled me in ways I hadn’t expected—every kiss, every look, every moment too damn good to be temporary.
But now I had to leave. Five days. Just five days. It shouldn’t have felt like a lifetime.
I made my way to the sink, splashing cold water on my face like it could sober me from the haze she left me in.
It didn’t help. When I looked up, I caught her reflection through the bathroom mirror—moving through my kitchen like she belonged there.
One of my hoodies hung off her shoulder, sleeves too long, her hair a wild mess I’d give anything to tangle my fingers in again.
She was humming. Just softly. And something in me twisted at the sound of it. Like maybe the walls I’d built around myself didn’t stand a chance anymore.
I watched her stir a pot on the stove, bare feet padding against the tile, completely at home in a space I hadn’t realized was so empty until she walked into it.
She wasn’t trying to be anything but herself—and yet she’d filled every corner of this place without even trying.
It wasn’t just the hoodie. It was the way she moved, the warmth in her voice, the memory of her mouth pressed to mine like a promise I didn’t know I was making.
She looked over her shoulder and caught me watching. Smiled—like it was nothing. Like it didn’t undo me completely.
“Good morning,” she said, and it landed in my chest like a punch and a balm at the same time. "Again."
“Morning,” I said back, voice rougher than I meant it to be. Not from sleep—just from missing her before I’d even left.
She turned back to the stove, humming again, and I stood there in the doorway like an idiot, trying to memorize the way she looked in my kitchen, in my life. Like maybe if I did, the next five days wouldn’t feel like hell. Like maybe coming back wouldn’t feel like a risk.
But it would. Because this—her—was starting to feel like everything I didn’t know I needed.
Smoke wafted through the kitchen like it was trying to make a dramatic exit.
I stopped dead in the doorway, staring at the scene in front of me: Mina, fanning a dishrag furiously in front of the smoke detector, hair tousled, cheeks flushed, and a frying pan on the stove looking like it had survived a war.
“You trying to kill me before I get on the plane?” I asked, one brow lifting.
She whipped around, caught red-handed, guilt and defiance both flashing in her eyes. “You distracted me! I was going to surprise you.”
“Oh, I’m surprised,” I said, stepping closer and surveying the damage. “Did you set the toast… on fire?”
She glanced at the blackened remains on the counter. “Okay, yes. But in my defense, your toaster has, like, no middle setting. It’s either ‘still bread’ or ‘apocalypse.’”
I coughed pointedly as I opened a window. “And the eggs?”
“I didn’t realize the pan would heat up that fast!” she cried, hands on her hips now. “I was going for soft scramble, not… charred regret.”