The rain had slowed to a soft patter on the glass.
We stepped back into the suite, shoes damp, clothes clinging to our skin. The room was warm, but my heart thudded like it was bracing for a storm of a different kind.
Tedd looked at me—his eyes scanning mine as if waiting for me to take it all back.
I didn't.
Instead, I took a breath and whispered, "Stay."
He didn't move toward me right away. He respected silence the way good men do.
"Are you sure?" he asked.
I nodded slowly. "I'm tired of being scared of what I deserve."
That was enough.
He stepped closer, brushing my damp hair behind my ear. His hand lingered at my cheek, thumb gently tracing the edge of my jaw.
"You're still healing," he murmured.
"So are you," I whispered back.
His lips met mine again, this time without urgency.
It was a kiss made of time—one that said I see you, not I want you. One that asked, May I?, not You owe me.
Clothes fell away slowly.
My cardigan first, his button-down next. He slid it off his shoulders, revealing skin that carried the same kind of tired I did—scars beneath the surface, stories in every quiet line.
His hands didn't rush. They remembered me as they moved.
He kissed my collarbone. My shoulder. The inside of my wrist like he was memorizing a prayer.
And when I shivered, not from cold but from being seen, he held me closer.
"I've never..." I started, breath shaky.
Tedd looked up. "You don't have to explain."
"No. I want to," I whispered. "I've never had someone... make me feel like I don't have to be strong while being touched."
He rested his forehead against mine. "Then let's not rush."
The bed was warm.14Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡnrA4PwzLGt
The sheets soft.14Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡgyzmuc3ttz
The air full of rain and soft breathing.
When we laid down, I let him trace the faint line of my dialysis scar.
He didn't flinch. Didn't pity.
He kissed it.
And that made me sob—quietly, into his chest, as his arms wrapped around me like they were made for this.
Not possession. Not hunger.
Just presence.
His body moved with mine, not against.
Slow. Tender. Every movement asked, Are you okay?14Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡiBvZOlcAJT
And every sigh I gave back answered, Yes. Yes. Please don't stop being kind.
We didn't talk. We didn't have to.
Because what we were doing wasn't just physical.
It was surrender.14Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡRYPH6VR8Dt
It was comfort.14Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡAVyuFw0AF9
It was two survivors making room for softness in a world that had bruised them raw.
And when we finally collapsed beside each other—sweaty, trembling, breathless—it wasn't release that made it powerful.
It was relief.
We didn't make love to forget the past.
We made love to prove it didn't win.
He kissed my temple as I curled into him.
"You don't owe me anything," he whispered.
"I know," I said. "But I want to stay."
And in that quiet room above a foreign city, wrapped in limbs and warmth and all the things we never thought we'd earn—
We rested.
14Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡErXAMkOewg
