Inspired by the song "About You" by The 1975.


The rain had been falling for hours, drowning the town in a slow, steady rhythm. It was the kind of rain that blurred the edges of everything, washing the color out of the sky, out of the dirt roads, out of me. It had been a long day. My hands ached from hammering steel, my shoulders tense from the weight of too many unfinished thoughts. The forge had always been a place of control—where things made sense, where everything had a purpose.

But not tonight. Not when I felt like the whole damn world had tilted slightly off its axis.

And then the door creaked open.

I didn't have to look up to know it was her.

I don't know how I knew. Maybe it was the shift in the air, the way my pulse kicked up against my ribs, the way my stomach tightened like muscle memory. Maybe it was just because she had always been the one thing I could never seem to push out of my head, no matter how much I tried.

I forced myself to exhale, to steel my expression before lifting my gaze.

And there she was.

Soaked from head to toe, rainwater dripping from the strands of her blonde hair onto the floor. She was shivering slightly, but her face was unreadable. Like she wasn't sure if she had made the right choice coming here. Like she was caught somewhere between wanting to say something and turning around and walking back into the storm.

I clenched my jaw.

"What are you doing here?" I asked. My voice came out rougher than I intended.

She hesitated, then glanced toward the window, as if she needed an excuse. "The storm," she murmured.

I almost laughed.

The storm.

Like she couldn't have gone anywhere else. Like she hadn't spent the past weeks or even months doing everything in her power to avoid me.

I tossed her a towel from the corner, my movements stiff, controlled.

"Dry off," I muttered.

She caught it without a word, dragging the fabric over her arms, her face, the ends of her rain-drenched hair. The fire from the forge flickered against her skin, making the shadows dance along her cheekbones. I shouldn't have been staring, but I couldn't help it.

I never could.

Silence stretched between us, thick and suffocating. I hated it. Hated the way it felt like something was pressing down on my chest, making it harder to breathe. Hated that I still knew her well enough to see the tension in her shoulders, the way she was gripping the towel a little too tightly.

"You didn't have to come here," I said.

She glanced at me then, just for a second, before looking away.

"I didn't mean to."

I scoffed.

"Right."

She didn't react. Didn't snap back the way she normally would. And that—that was worse.

Because it left me alone with my thoughts.

And my thoughts were nothing but her.

The way she had looked at me that night several weeks (or months?) ago—like she wanted me to kiss her just as much as I wanted to. The way she had tasted when I finally did. The way her breath had hitched when my fingers tangled in her hair. The way she had whispered my name like it was the only thing in the world that mattered.

I exhaled sharply, running a hand through my hair.

That night had been a mistake. That's what we had both told ourselves. That's what we had both agreed on. After all, we were supposed to have moved on.

So why the hell was she still standing there?

Why the hell was I still looking at her like this?

I turned back toward the workbench, my hands gripping the nearest piece of metal like it could anchor me, like it could stop me from reaching for her. I had to do something to keep myself busy. To stop myself from making this worse.

"The storm will pass soon," I muttered, my voice rougher than I intended. "You should go home."

For a second, she didn't move.

She just stood there, staring at me. Like she was waiting for something. Like she wanted me to say something.

But I didn't. I couldn't.

Because if I did, it wouldn't stop. It would be everything.

Finally, she nodded.

And that—that nearly killed me.

It meant she understood. It meant we were both standing on the edge of something, both of us knowing that this... whatever this was that was lingering between us... couldn't go on without breaking something.

She turned toward the door, still holding that damn towel in her hands. I had to force myself to stay still. To not reach for her. To not say her name.

The door opened.

Cold air rushed in.

And then she was gone.

And I was left standing there, gripping a useless piece of metal, staring at the empty space where she had been.

Still thinking about her. Always thinking about her.

It was insane. Watching her walk away felt like watching a part of myself slip out the door with her. The same person I had once imagined proposing to, the one I had dreamed of building a life with. Now, all I had were these lingering, impossible feelings.

I tried to push them aside—tried to bury them under layers of anger and frustration. But they wouldn't go. They couldn't. She was there, in everything I did. And when I closed my eyes, I could still see her face, the way it softened when she looked at me. I remembered how it felt when she used to bemine—how everything felt possible.

I could feel myself drowning in those thoughts. That place I used to go, the one I didn't want to return to... the place where we'd get married in our heads, where it was just us, pretending things were simple. Pretending I didn't have a thousand doubts and fears weighing on me.

I couldn't forget how she made my heart surrender.

And I couldn't make it stop. I couldn't stop thinking about her. It was always about her.

The sound of footsteps in the rain pulled me from my haze. Faint. Hesitant. Like someone pacing outside the forge.

I stood quickly, pulse hammering in my ears. My hands clenched at my sides, and I moved toward the door without even thinking. My heart slammed against my ribs, a desperate beat I couldn't quiet.

And then—

A shadow through the rain.

She was still here.

Not leaving.

Not yet.

Something inside me snapped. I didn't think. I didn't hesitate. I pushed open the door, stepping into the downpour, ignoring the cold seeping into my bones.

She turned, startled. Water dripped from her lashes, her lips parted in surprise.

I didn't care.

I closed the distance between us.

"Claire."

Her breath caught.

I didn't let go.

Her skin was cold beneath my hands, her shirt soaked through, but all I could think about was how close she was. How I could feel the tremble in her breath. How she hadn't pulled away.

"Claire," I said again, softer this time, like maybe if I said it gently enough, she wouldn't run.

She swallowed hard, blinking against the rain, her lips parting like she was about to speak. But she didn't. She just stood there, dripping and silent, and it made something inside me twist.

"Why did you come here?" My voice was rough, raw.

A breath. A hesitation.

And then—

"I don't know."

Bullshit.

I exhaled sharply, dragging a hand through my wet hair. I could feel the storm in my bones now, settling deep, making everything ache. It was always like this with her—this unbearable tension, this thing that stretched between us, tight enough to snap.

"I can't do this," I muttered, taking a step back. The space between us felt like a wound. Open. Bleeding.

Her expression flickered—something unreadable in the dim firelight spilling from the forge. "Do what?" she asked, her voice barely audible over the rain.

I clenched my jaw.

Forget you.

Want you.

Lie to myself.

None of the words made it past my throat.

Instead, I shook my head. "You should go home, Claire."

A sharp exhale. Her fingers curled into fists, like she wanted to hit something. Like she wanted to hitme.

"You always do this," she said, her voice shaking.

I frowned. "Do what?"

She let out a bitter laugh, but there was no humor in it. "Push me away. Act like none of this meant anything. Like that night meant nothing."

My stomach twisted violently. I didn't want to talk about that night. Couldn't.

So I did what I always did. I lied.

"It didn't."

The moment the words left my mouth, I regretted them.

Her face went still.

And then—

"Fuck you, Gray."

She turned, storming toward the road. The wind caught her hair, whipping it around her face, and I knew if I let her go now, she wouldn't come back. This time, she'd mean it.

Panic clawed up my throat.

"Claire—"

She didn't stop.

I moved before I could think, grabbing her wrist, spinning her back toward me. She crashed against my chest, rain-drenched and furious, her pulse racing beneath my fingers.

I should've let her go.

I should've kept lying.

But I didn't.

I kissed her.

Hard. Desperate. Like I was trying to erase the space between us, like I was trying to take back every stupid thing I'd ever said.

She froze. A sharp inhale.

And then—

She kissed me back.

It was messy, frantic, all teeth and gasps and hands fisting in wet fabric. She was fire and I was burning, and maybe I wanted to. Maybe I wanted to let it consume me, to drown in her, to forget everything except the way she felt against me, the way her body pressed into mine like she belonged there.

The rain pounded against us, cold and relentless, but I barely felt it. All I felt was her. My hands found her waist, gripping tight as I slowly walked her backward, guiding her back inside. She didn't resist. She let me. Maybe she needed this just as much as I did.

We stumbled inside, dripping water onto the stone floor. The door swung shut behind us with a dull thud, locking us in with nothing but the dim glow of embers and the heat rising from the forge. Steam curled from our soaked clothes, rising in the space between us, but I barely noticed.

Her fingers tangled in my hair, tugging just enough to make me groan. I deepened the kiss, pressing her back against the nearest wall, my body caging hers in. The warmth from inside seeped into my skin, but it was nothing compared to the fire burning between us.

Her breath hitched.

I broke away just enough to rest my forehead against hers, chest heaving, my breath mingling with hers in the charged silence.

"This is a mistake," I murmured, voice hoarse.

Her fingers tightened in my shirt. "I know."

Neither of us moved. Neither of us let go. Because it was always a mistake. And we were always making it anyway.

Before I even realized what I was doing, I closed the gap between us and kissed her again. It was urgent, desperate, like it was the only thing left I could do. She stiffened for a moment, her lips pressed to mine, unsure, but the second she relaxed into the kiss, I felt the tension in her body dissolve.

Her hands found my chest, pushing me back for a moment. I felt the sharp sting of reality hit me as she pulled away, her voice a soft murmur. "We shouldn't have done this… I'm sorry."

I stepped back, my own breath ragged. But her words weren't what bothered me. It was the way she looked at me—eyes filled with doubt, filled with something unspoken. A kind of longing she couldn't quite hide.

She continued softly, almost to herself, "We really shouldn't be lingering like this."

The words were like a punch to my gut. She was right. We'd tried to move on from what we had, and yet, here we were, standing in the middle of the forge like nothing had changed.

I didn't let her pull away. Not this time.

Her voice, her words—they didn't make me want to let go, they made me want to pull her closer. My hand moved to her wrist gently, stopping her from retreating any further.

"Claire," I muttered, my voice low, raw. "Don't."

She hesitated, her eyes flickering with uncertainty, and I could see the battle in her. She wanted to run. But something was holding her here, just as it was holding me.

She muttered something under her breath—something I didn't quite catch, but it sounded like it was meant for her ears only. "I don't know why I'm here…" she whispered, more to herself than to me.

I stayed silent for a long moment, letting the words hang in the air between us. But deep down, I knew why she was here. I knew why I was here too.

It was supposed to be different. We were supposed to have moved on. But here we were again, two people who couldn't forget the past, the way we'd felt, the things that never quite worked out.

I hadn't forgotten. I'd tried to, but I couldn't.

And then, without thinking, the words left me, a quiet question that barely made it past my lips.

"Do you think I've forgotten?"

Claire froze, her eyes widening. She wasn't expecting that. Neither was I. But it was the truth. I hadn't forgotten anything. I couldn't.

Not the late nights when she curled into me, shaking from the thunder, whispering that she hated storms, that they made her feel like a kid again—small, helpless. Not the way she used to squeeze my hand when the first crack of lightning split the sky, like she was grounding herself.

Not the way she used to find me, always, when the storms came.

Just like now.

A flicker of something crossed her face—shock, maybe. Or realization. Like she hadn't even noticed what she was doing until I said it out loud.

Because she had come to me.

Again.

And maybe she thought I didn't remember, that I had forgotten all those nights when I held her until the storm passed, murmuring that she was safe, that it was just noise, just rain, nothing that could touch her as long as I was there.

But I hadn't.

I hadn't forgotten a single goddamn thing about her.

Her breath caught in her throat, and she reached for my hand, pulling me toward her again, this time with purpose. There was no hesitation this time, no pulling away. Just the heat of her body pressing against mine, her lips meeting mine once more. It wasn't tentative or cautious. It was desperate, almost frantic, like we were both trying to make up for the time lost—time that we'd never get back.

My hands moved to her waist, guiding her toward the small bedroom at the back of the forge. There was a kind of inevitability to it, like we both knew this was where we were meant to end up. Claire didn't say anything, didn't try to stop me. She let me lead, her eyes half-closed, her hands gripping my shoulders, her breath ragged in the silence.

We moved slowly, step by step, toward that tiny room where things had always felt simpler. Where things had once felt real. But as we crossed the threshold, I could feel the tension building between us again. It wasn't just physical anymore. It was emotional. The chemistry, the history between us—it was all so clear now, so undeniable.

The rain outside was a soft hum, distant and unimportant, as I held her close. But inside this tiny room, in the small space we shared, the world had narrowed to nothing but her and me. She was still damp from the rain, her skin cool beneath my fingertips, but that only made the heat between us more intense.

The room was small, too small for what was happening, but somehow, it felt like the only place where I could truly be with her.

I kissed her again, and this time, I let it be slower, more deliberate. I could feel the damp fabric of her shirt against my skin as I tugged it free from her waistband, the cool sensation of her skin sending a shock through me. She gasped, her hands moving to the back of my neck, pulling me closer as if she couldn't get enough of me.

I pulled back just slightly, my heart hammering in my chest. I couldn't read her in this moment, couldn't tell what was going on in her head. But I could feel the heat between us, the undeniable tension that had been there from the start. Her eyes, wide and full of something I couldn't quite place, met mine, and I could feel her breath quicken, matching mine.

"Gray," she whispered, a sound that made my stomach tighten, my body ache. It was raw, thick with everything we'd been avoiding for so long. And just as quickly, I felt her pull away, her hand moving to my chest, as though trying to push me back.

A mistake. That's what we had both agreed on after the last time. And yet here we were again, the distance between us erased in an instant. She said she didn't want to be here, didn't want this. But it wasn't as simple as that. It wasn't just about what was happening now—it was about everything that had led us to this moment.

I felt her body tremble against mine, a quiet shudder that ran through her like she wasn't sure whether to pull away or press closer. But when her fingers found the waistband of my pants, tugging with the kind of urgency that left no room for hesitation, I knew—I wasn't alone in this. Whatever this was, she was falling with me.

I slid my hands beneath her shirt, feeling the warmth of her skin, the way she tensed beneath my touch before exhaling, melting into it. Slowly, I pushed the fabric up, letting my fingertips skim along the curve of her spine, the dip of her waist, before lifting it over her head. The moment it hit the floor, I took her in.

She was stunning. The way the dim light traced over her skin, the way her chest rose and fell with each breath—she was more than I remembered. More than I had let myself remember. I reached for the clasp of her bra, running my fingers beneath it, feeling the way her breath hitched as I undid it and eased the strap down her arms. The moment the fabric slipped away, her body tensed—just for a second—before she swallowed hard, her eyes locked onto mine, waiting.

I didn't look away. I didn't let her hide. My hands traced over her bare shoulders, down the soft curve of her breasts, feeling every shiver, every silent plea in the way she arched ever so slightly toward me.

Then her hands were on me, pushing my shirt up, her fingers dragging over my skin, leaving fire in their wake. The moment it was gone, she was already reaching for my belt, fumbling, desperate. I smirked against her lips, taking over, making quick work of the last barriers between us.

And then, finally—her bare skin pressed against mine, nothing left between us but the sound of our ragged breaths. She was warm, soft, perfect. Her body curled into me like she had never belonged anywhere else. Like this had never stopped being ours.

I moved, shifting us towards the bed, my hands now more urgent. I hovered above her, chest pressed to hers, feeling the rapid rise and fall of her breath beneath me. It matched mine in its desperation, in its urgency. My body trembled, not from cold, but from the weight of my desire, the fire I had tried to suppress for so long. I told myself, again and again, that this was a mistake. That I shouldn't have let it get this far. That I shouldn't have come back to her like this. But my body was betraying me, every inch of me aching for her, wanting more, needing more.

I could see the hesitation in her eyes, but there was something else there too—something raw, something vulnerable that spoke to me louder than any words. She was scared, yes, but so was I. I was terrified of what this meant, terrified of how it felt to be this close to her again, to feel her warmth against me, to feel her heart beating beneath my chest like it was still part of me. And yet... there was nowhere else I wanted to be.

"Claire," I muttered, my voice thick with emotion. "Are you sure?"

Her fingers found their way to my face, trembling as they traced the line of my jaw. The soft touch sent a tremor down my spine. I wanted to pull back, to say something—anything—to stop this from going further, but the way she looked at me... It was like she was pulling me in, telling me without words that she wasn't going anywhere.

"I trust you," she whispered, her voice barely audible, but the weight of it settled over me like a promise I couldn't ignore.

I closed my eyes for a moment, trying to push away the doubt gnawing at my mind. I wanted to stop, I wanted to tell her that we couldn't do this, that we had both made our mistakes. But when I opened my eyes, when I looked down at her—my body already so close to hers, heart pounding, blood rushing—I realized it didn't matter. Because the truth was, I couldn't make myself stop. Not anymore.

With a quiet breath, I closed the distance between us again, my lips crashing into hers—desperate, needy, like I was trying to make up for all the time we had lost, for all the words we had never said. We moved blindly, tangled in each other, hands grasping, pulling, fumbling as we stumbled back.

And then—

With a muffled gasp, we landed on the bed with a soft thud, the mattress dipping beneath us. My hands moved instinctively, tracing her body, feeling the familiar curves I had once known so well. I could feel her pulse quicken under my fingertips, her body responding to mine in ways that sent a shock through me. Every touch, every kiss, was like a question, an answer, a challenge, and a promise. The tension between us deepened, thickening with every breath.

There was no room for second-guessing. No more trying to convince myself that this was a mistake. The mistake had already happened—the mistake was walking away from her in the first place. The mistake was thinking I could live without her, that I could find something better. I should have known better. I should have known that I couldn't escape her. That I couldn't escapethis.

My hands roamed over her, fingers pressing into soft, familiar curves as if trying to commit every inch of her to memory. Her breath hitched when I trailed slow, open-mouthed kisses down her throat, her body arching instinctively in response.

I didn't stop there. My lips continued their path lower, brushing along the delicate line of her collarbone, lingering for a moment before moving lower still. A quiet sigh escaped her as I pressed a kiss over her heart, feeling the rapid beat beneath my lips. My hands followed, mapping her with reverence, with aching familiarity. When my mouth found her breasts, taking one of them in, she gasped, fingers tangling in my hair, holding me closer.

I wasn't sure which one of us was trembling more.

Her hands weren't still either—roaming over me, grasping at my shoulders, burying into my hair, nails scraping lightly against my skin, sending a shiver down my spine. I could feel the way she held on as though afraid I might disappear if she let go.

I wasn't going anywhere. Not this time.

I let my hand drift lower, testing, teasing, feeling the way she arched into my touch. A quiet gasp left her lips, her fingers tightening in my hair as I brushed against the heat of her, finding her already warm and wanting. The realization sent something sharp and desperate through me, an ache I didn't know how to name. I moved my fingers, slow and deliberate, savoring the way her breath hitched, the way her body answered me without hesitation.

Our bodies moved together in slow, unspoken understanding, heat building between us in the quiet gasps and whispered breaths. Every brush of skin, every pull of her closer only sharpened the ache coiling deep in my stomach, the need thrumming through my veins like something primal. It took everything in me to hold back, to savor the way she felt beneath me, the way her breath hitched in anticipation.

When my hand moved to grip her hip, steadying her, and our bodies finally aligned, a shudder ran through me. The moment stretched, heavy and electric, before I slowly entered her, inch by inch, feeling the tension in the air shift—tightening, deepening, until there was nothing left between us.

Her legs tightened around me, pulling me deeper, holding me like she was afraid I'd slip away. As if she didn't know I couldn't. That I wouldn't. That there was nowhere else I'd rather be.

I sank into her, into the heat of her body, into the way she fit so perfectly against me. Into everything we had fought, denied, and tried to outrun.

Her fingers found mine, threading together, stretching out against the sheets like we were holding on for dear life. Like letting go wasn't an option. The air around us was thick, heavy, charged with something neither of us could name, but both of us felt.

The bed creaked beneath us, the slow, aching rhythm of bodies relearning each other, of tension building, of restraint slipping through our fingers. Her breath hitched, her nails dug into my back, and I felt the tremor in her limbs, the way she trembled—not with hesitation, but with something deeper. Something raw. Something that felt like surrender.

I wanted to give her everything. I needed to.

Because it was her. It had always been her. And as I lost myself in her, in the quiet gasps and whispered breaths, in the way she moved against me, I knew with certainty—there was nothing left of me that wasn't about her.

Her body arched, pressing closer, and when my hand moved lower, when I finally sank into her completely, a quiet gasp left her lips. The tension between us snapped, unraveling into something deeper, something neither of us could come back from.

Her hands roamed over me, restless, desperate, as if she was trying to memorize every inch of me, trying to pull me even closer when there was no space left between us.

"Are you okay?" I rasped, my voice thick, rough with want, but edged with something softer, something that had nothing to do with desire and everything to do with her.

She nodded, her fingers gripping my back, her breath warm against my skin. "I'm fine," she whispered, her voice unsteady, her eyes locked onto mine. "More than fine."

And in that moment, I knew. The weight of everything—the doubts, the regrets—they didn't matter anymore. It was just us, together. It was always going to be us.

I picked up the pace, just enough, searching for that perfect balance between urgency and control. I wanted to make this last, to commit every moment to memory, but I also wanted to push her over the edge, to watch her come undone beneath me.

There was no hesitation now. No fear. Just the heat of her body, the way she moved with me, the soft sounds that escaped her lips—each one pulling me deeper under.

I had spent so much time trying to convince myself that this was a mistake, that we were better off pretending it had never happened. I had told her it wasn't right, that we were both better off walking away. I had told myself the same thing, over and over, as if saying it enough times would make it true.

But here, now, wrapped up in her, I knew the truth.

The mistake had never been us. The mistake had been trying to forget her. Trying to pretend that I could ever walk away from this, from her.

Because the truth was, we couldn't escape each other. We never had been able to. And maybe we never would.

She pulled me closer, her body arching into mine, and I let myself go. Let myself feel everything I had spent too long suppressing.

The way her breath hitched.
The way she whispered my name like it meant something.
The way we fit together, like we had been made for this.

Every kiss felt like a promise, every movement like something bigger than either of us. The heat between us coiled tighter, the tension building to something impossible.

And when it finally snapped—when we finally gave in completely—there was no doubt left in my mind.

She was mine. And I was hers.

I could feel her beneath me, her body trembling, her breaths shallow and uneven, matching mine as if we were both caught in the same storm. She moved against me, instinctively, her hands pulling me closer, urging me to deepen myself in her, even though both of us were teetering on the edge, aware of the precipice we were standing on. There was no turning back now. There hadn't been for awhile, despite the lies we told each other.

"Claire..." I rasped, barely able to control my voice, my body trembling as her movements became more urgent, more desperate, as if she, too, was beginning to unravel. I brushed my fingers against her lips, my thumb tracing the curve of her lips. "Goddess, you feel so—"

But before I could finish, her hand moved to my back, pulling me even deeper into her, urging me to surrender, to give in. But I was already lost, already so far gone. My mind was clouded with the heat of her, the sound of her gasps, and the way her body responded to mine. I tried to focus, to hold on just a little longer, but the pull between us was undeniable.

I couldn't stop now.

My pulse pounded in my ears, my breathing shallow, ragged. I could barely think—barely breathe—as my body responded to the overwhelming pull of hers. My hands tightened around her as I increased my pace, my fingers digging into soft skin, pulling her against me, feeling every inch of her beneath me.

She trembled, her breath hitching, caught in the rhythm we had fallen into—one that felt inevitable, like something neither of us could fight anymore. My mind was hazy, drowning in the sensation of her, the warmth of her skin, the way she fit against me like she belonged there. She had always belonged there.

Every movement, every touch, only fueled the fire between us. It was consuming, unbearable, and yet I didn't want it to stop. Time didn't exist anymore. The world outside didn't exist. It was just her. Just this.

"Gray..." she whispered, her voice filled with longing, with something more that neither of us dared to name out loud. Her eyes locked onto mine, and in them, I saw everything we had been too afraid to admit. The need, the desire, the love, the trust. Her fingers gripped my arms, pulling me closer, like she needed more, like even this wasn't enough. "Please…"

I realized then that every word we had said before—every time we tried to call it a mistake—was just fear talking. We were both so afraid of what this meant, afraid of how we might get hurt again. But this? This was what we had always been meant to come back to.

She moved again, a soft cry escaping her lips, and I knew. I knew there was no going back. We were never a mistake. The mistake had been the way we had tried to walk away from it in the first place, convinced that we could find something else, something less messy, something easier.

But there was nothing easier than this, nothing more real than the way she made me feel—how every inch of my body responded to hers, how every kiss, every touch only confirmed what I had tried so hard to deny.

And as I felt the pressure build, as we both neared the edge, I knew that whatever came next, we were both in it together. There was no more hesitation. No more wondering if we'd regret this. There was only the undeniable truth of what we shared.

Her fingers dug into my back, her chest pressing against mine, her body moving in time with mine. We were so close, so damn close, I could barely keep myself from tumbling over the edge. I moved with her, against her, chasing something just out of reach, something I knew she felt just as desperately. My hands slid down to her hips, gripping her tight, holding her steady as I fought to keep control—to make this last—but she was making it impossible.

Then she shattered—a soft cry escaping her lips, my name leaving her mouth like a plea, a prayer. That was all it took. The sound of her, the way she needed me in that moment, sent a shockwave through me. My whole body tensed, my control slipping like sand through my fingers.

I groaned, the sound rough, low, helpless. The tension snapped, breaking over both of us, sending me over the edge with her. Everything inside me unraveled, my hands clutching her tighter as I let go and felt it—the sweet release, the rush of it, as if everything finally fell into place.

The world outside of us disappeared, and for a moment, there was nothing but the sound of our breaths, the warmth of our bodies, and the feeling of finally being where we belonged.

And then, in the stillness that followed, I knew with certainty.

This wasn't a mistake.

Not this. Not her. Not us.

We had come full circle, and in the end, we had found our way back to each other.

As my breathing slowed and reality seeped back in, I felt her shift against me. Just barely. Just enough to notice.

The way her fingers hesitated against my skin. The way she stiffened, her breath catching like she was bracing for something inevitable.

I didn't have to look at her to know what was going through her head.

Because I had been the one to put that doubt there.

Fuck.

The realization hit like a cold, hard punch to the gut.

She thought I was going to call this a mistake. That I was going to pull away. That I'd regret this the second the haze of it all faded.

She thought she had to leave.

The worst part was, she wasn't wrong to expect it.

Because that was exactly what I'd done before.

And maybe that was why it hurt so damn much to see her start to pull back now, to watch as she quietly, resignedly reached for her clothes, already preparing herself for me to ruin this.

Again.

Not this time.

Before she could move any further, I caught her wrist, wrapping my fingers around it and holding firm. She froze, barely breathing, like she was waiting for me to say the words that would make this whole thing come crashing down.

But I couldn't.

I wouldn't.

"Claire." My voice came out rough, unsteady.

She didn't look at me at first, but she didn't pull away either. That flicker of doubt in her eyes. That quiet, heartbreaking acceptance.

She was waiting for the blow to land.

I swallowed, my grip tightening just enough. "Stay."

That got her.

Her eyes flickered to mine, wary, searching.

Like she was waiting for the other shoe to drop.

I exhaled sharply, my fingers loosening just enough to slide down her wrist, then her palm, until I was threading my fingers through hers. Holding her there. Holding her with me.

"You don't have to go."

A breath. A beat.

"Gray," she started, but I shook my head.

"I don't regret this," I said, quiet but firm. "I don't regret you."

Her lips parted slightly, but she didn't speak. Didn't move.

Instead, I swallowed hard, my voice quieter than before. "You don't have to pretend this didn't happen."

She stilled.

For a second, I thought she might actually believe me. That maybe—maybe—she'd let herself stay.

But then she let out a breath, shaky and hollow, and her lips curved into something that wasn't quite a smile. "I don't." Her voice was quiet, careful. "But you do."

That hit harder than it should have.

Like she had already made up her mind. Like she had already accepted that this—us—was nothing more than a fleeting moment. Something that would be left in the dark when the sun came up.

Like she thought I would let her walk away.

I exhaled sharply, my fingers flexing against her skin before I slid my hand up, cupping the side of her face, forcing her to look at me. Really look at me.

"I don't want to. I won't."

I could feel it—the battle waging inside her, the disbelief, the fear that I would take it back, that I would make this hurt the way I had before.

I wasn't going to.

I dragged my other hand up to cup her jaw, brushing my thumb just below her lips, keeping her right here, making sure she heard me.

"I mean it."

Her breath hitched.

And just like that, something in her cracked.

I felt it in the way she exhaled, in the way the tension in her shoulders finally gave.

I had spent so long convincing myself I could live without her. That it was the right thing to do.

But I couldn't.

I never could.

It had always been her.

Every stupid argument. Every stolen glance. Every time I caught myself staring too long, wanting too much.

Every moment I had spent alone, gripping metal so hard my knuckles turned white, trying to beat my feelings for her into something manageable.

Every night I had spent lying awake, haunted by the ghost of what I wanted but was too much of a coward to reach for.

It was always about her.

And now, here she was. Right in front of me. Still mine—if I wanted her. If I was brave enough to take her.

So I kissed her.

Not hard. Not desperate. Just real.

Just enough to make her feel it.

Just enough to let her know.

That it had always been about her.

Every fight. Every mistake. Every goddamn moment of my life—I had been running, fighting, denying what was right in front of me.

But it was her. It was always her.

And when she finally melted against me, her hands gripping my arms, her breath shaking as she whispered my name, I knew—goddamn it, I knew.

She believed me.

She knew.

That everything—everything—had always been about her.