Chapter 12 Bed, Bugs, and Other Terrifying Things #2
“I mean you’re not helpless,” he corrects. “I know that. Intellectually. Emotionally, my system is still… catching up.”
I lie there, absorbing that.
My anxiety does drop a couple of points.
We’re companions in this, not a rescuer and a damsel.
“Hey, Knight?” I say.
“Yeah?”
“Thank you. For telling me that stuff earlier. About your family. About your… patches.”
He shifts, the mattress dipping closer.
“You regretting your patch notes yet?” he asks.
I wince. “You mean the part where I accidentally told you I love you?”
He goes very still.
Yeah.
There it is.
“My filter glitched,” I say quickly. “I wasn’t trying to—”
“Don’t take it back,” he says, and there’s something raw in his voice that stops me mid-ramble. “Please don’t… walk that back.”
I stare at the shadow of his profile.
It’s dark, but I can see the line of his jaw, the slope of his nose, the way he’s turned a little toward me even though he’s keeping that careful inch of space.
“I’m not taking it back,” I say, heart pounding. “I just… feel weird about it being… out. In the air. Like some cartoon speech bubble I can’t pop.”
He lets out a breath that sounds almost like a relieved laugh. “Welcome to my life,” he murmurs. “You think I haven’t been choking on my own unsaid shit for years?”
“Language,” I whisper automatically.
He chuckles, the sound low and warm in the dark. “Lark,” he says after a moment, voice quieter, “can I say something that’s going to make your system panic and then maybe calm down?”
“Oh good,” I say. “More feelings. Hit me.”
He takes a breath. “When you said you loved me,” he says, each word deliberate, “I didn’t hear ‘girl with a crush on an idea.’ I heard ‘person who has seen me at my worst and still chose me anyway.’ And I… don’t know what to do with that. I’m not good at it. I’m going to fumble it.”
I swallow.
“But,” he continues, “I also felt… lucky. Like somehow, despite my best efforts to keep everyone at arm’s length, you slipped through anyway. And now that you’re here… I don’t want you to go.”
The tight band around my lungs loosens. “Knight,” I whisper.
“Yeah?”
“I’m really glad you suck at pushing me away.”
He huffs a quiet laugh. “You’re infuriating,” he says gently.
“You adore me.”
“I’m working on accepting that,” he says. “And… I’m falling too, okay? It’s not just you out there on the ledge. I’m right beside you. That’s what I wanted to say.”
My heart completely gives up on pretending it’s a normal organ and turns into a fireworks factory.
I turn fully onto my side, facing him, my hand finding the edge of my pillow. “Knight?” I whisper.
“Yeah?” His voice is closer now. He’s rolled onto his side too. I can feel the heat of his body through the thin gap, the faint brush of air as he breathes.
“Can I…?”
I don’t even know what I’m asking.
Yes, I do.
I want to close that stupid inch of space.
He seems to understand anyway.
“Yeah,” he says softly. “Whatever it is. Yeah.”
That permission knocks something loose.
I inch forward, closing that last bit of distance until my forehead brushes his. My hand slides up, fingertips grazing his shoulder, then the side of his neck.
He sucks in a breath. “Still not touching you,” he murmurs, words a little strained. “On principle.”
“Sure,” I breathe. “Whatever helps you sleep at night.”
His lips curve against mine before we’ve even kissed.
Then he closes the last millimeter.
The kiss is nothing like the half-panicked, half-explosive one on the couch.
This one is slow.
Careful.
His mouth is warm and soft and sure, moving against mine with a tenderness that makes my eyes sting. His hand comes up to cradle the back of my head, fingers threading into my hair, not pulling me in so much as anchoring me there like he’s afraid I’ll float away.
Heat rolls through me, slow and steady.
I slide closer, my body fitting against his like that’s where it’s been trying to be this whole time. My knee brushes his thigh as his chest presses against mine. The blanket tangles around us as we shift, finding a rhythm.
The kiss deepens.
He traces the seam of my lips with his tongue, asking, not demanding. I open for him with a small, helpless sound that only makes him pull me closer. Our legs tangle. His arm wraps around my waist, hand spreading over my lower back, holding me like I’m something precious and breakable and his.
He keeps the kiss just this side of gentle, even as it grows hotter, even as my fingers curl into his shirt, even as my body arches unconsciously toward his.
Every time I try to chase more, he slows it down, grounding us in the now, not the nearly.
It’s maddening.
It’s intoxicating.
He pulls back just enough to rest his forehead against mine, both of us breathing hard.
“Lark,” he murmurs, voice rough, “if we keep going, I’m not going to be able to pretend I’m not completely gone for you.”
My heart does a wild little spin. “You’re pretending now?” I whisper.
“A little,” he admits. “Helps me not throw you against the mattress and make very questionable choices while we’re on a criminal organization’s kill list.”
A laugh bubbles out of me, shaky and giddy. “You’re very responsible,” I say.
“It’s awful,” he agrees. His thumb strokes along my jaw, slow circles that ground me in my own skin. “Hey,” he says quietly. “Look at me.”
I open my eyes.
The room is dark, but I can see enough—the shape of his eyes, the worry carved into his brow, the softness there that he tries so hard to hide.
“If anything happens,” he says, “if they find us, if this all goes sideways… I need you to know something.”
My mouth goes dry. “That’s not a great lead-in.”
He huffs a breath that could almost be a laugh.
“I’m going to do everything I can to make sure we both walk away,” he says.
“That’s goal one. That’s the whole point.
But if the world decides to be the asshole it usually is, I need you to know…
this right here? You. Me. Murder cabin, canned bread, panic brain?
It’s the best thing that’s happened to me in a long time. ”
My throat tightens. “That’s your romantic speech?” I whisper. “Murder cabin and canned bread?”
“I’m not good at this,” he says. “But I’m trying. For you.”
And somehow that hits harder than any polished line ever could.
I swallow past the lump in my throat. “You’re doing great,” I say softly. “Ten out of ten. Would hide in a murder cabin with again.”
He smiles, small and real. “Good,” he murmurs. “Because when this is over, I’m taking you somewhere that doesn’t have a bounty or canned bread attached. And I’m going to kiss you without having to listen for spoons tied to door handles.”
“Ambitious,” I say.
“Worth it.”
I tuck my head under his chin, snuggling closer until my forehead rests against his chest. His arm tightens around me automatically, the most natural movement in the world.
His heartbeat thuds steady under my ear.
Safe.
Warm.
Here.
He presses a kiss to the top of my head, feather-light.
“Sleep, Birdie,” he murmurs. “I’ve got the night shift.”
“You’re allowed to sleep too,” I mumble into his shirt.
“I will,” he says. “Right here. With you.”
My anxiety, which had been hovering at a constant simmer, finally starts to ebb.
The dark outside is still full of unknown threats.
ALFA07/Helios is still out there.
Dean and Arrow and everyone else are still hunting ghosts through code and shadows.
But in this small circle of lamplight and shared body heat, it’s just us. Knight, wrapped around me like armor. Me, wrapped around him like I’ve finally found the place I was trying to hack my way into all along.
Sleep comes easier this time.
And even when my brain tries to spin up worst-case scenarios, the steady weight of his arm around my waist and the warm press of him remind me of one stubborn, glowing fact:
Whatever’s hunting us?
They’re underestimating just how hard two people in love—and yes, I said it, I own it—will fight to keep each other breathing.
Their mistake.
Our advantage.
I fall asleep with his heartbeat in my ear and his promise in my bones.