It puzzled her, the distress on his face, how abruptly he caught her and rushed to the surface. It wasn't like him to react nervously like that. It didn't even make sense; nothing happened, they were diving a little, several seconds, hardly. "Back in Greece… I drowned, didn't I?"

The question threw him visibly off balance; he stared agape for a moment before regaining his voice. "You remember?"

"Figured from your reaction." By the tense look in his face she could tell it wasn't a pleasant memory; he didn't follow up, and she didn't feel like pushing. It intrigued her, none the less, now that it occurred to her, that he recently didn't bring up Greece anymore; and that, come to think of it, those few times he had, he never went into details. Not that she inquired — the opposite, in fact, the topic still irked her — but somehow, now she couldn't help but wonder what it was exactly that had happened between them and why he never brought it up. Those were painful memories, some of them at least, that much she could tell by his face; but there was something that seemed like guilt behind that pain, not too obvious, rather lurking under the surface. That intrigued her the most.

Though, something about it — it gave her a little chill, whatever it was that made her stomach clench a bit now, like it always did when she had a strong hunch — water, dark water, lots of it, and blood — she shut her eyes rapidly, forcing the vision away.

The feeling lingered, dark and unpleasant. She shrugged it off, forcing her attention to the landscape around her. This whole backyard looked like a commercial for a tropical island retreat. Like a dreamscape; literally so. A house on the beach; it had been a silly, childhood dream of hers. Did she tell him that? Not that it would've had anything to do with him choosing this place. Well, she wasn't going to ask him that, that was for certain.

It made her smile, imagining the scene, uneasiness on his face when he'd lie to her, saying he remembered no such thing.

No, he would've told her without asking — if that had been the case, she would've known from the start. He was too flashy when it came to grand gestures to keep it from her.

She headed for the pool ladder, taking a dive on the way, and it hit again, making her emerge instantly, catching her breath with effort — the vision, it was just a flash, split-second, the dark waves, wind howling — she shook her head, her ears ringing for a moment. Maybe it was her mind grounding her, doing her a favor by getting her to snap out of this trance.

Of course something was going to happen sooner or later — they weren't going to live in this bubble forever. Even just two days of this peace and quiet felt unreal enough.

She stepped off the metal ladder and leaned forward to wring her hair. Well, if there was one thing she didn't like, it was wasting time brooding over what might come. Whatever was coming, was coming, she was ready for it; for anything, anytime, as she'd always been.

Maybe she just missed it, things happening. Being a patrol cop she wasn't used to things staying fine for long. And, well, in terms of calamities happening, she had to admit it had currently been a pretty uneventful 48 hours. One more day and it was going to feel disturbing. It was actually already starting to.

"What did you come here by? I heard the engine," she asked, pushing the previous thoughts away.

"What do you think I came here by?" He shot her a playful look.

"I think…" She pulled her hair back, and just stood there, not reaching for a towel yet, letting his eyes roam. "…from the sound of it… definitely something big enough to make me wanna ride it." She bit her lip, both amused by and loving his gaze on her, how he kept blinking, mouth agape — till, water cascading down the chiseled curves of his chest as he got out of the pool, he stepped towards her, making her own mouth dry in turn, making her chew on the inside of her cheek to keep the silly grin from spreading across her face.

"Thought as much." He embraced her from behind, making her chest expand with a fluttery breath, her lids falling shut; and staying shut, for the little while when his hands roamed over her waist, her knees going soft at the sound of what he whispered in her ear.

They went inside, eventually, and she dried herself and threw on a baggy t-shirt and black biker shorts. Then, he ushered her towards the front door — and she saw it, a curse dying on her lips. "Gimme the keys," she demanded, only seeing one thing: the four-wheeled red beauty in front of her.

"I knew it." He laughed somewhere behind her. "Can you drive a stick, though?"

"What the hell do you think…" was the last thing she said to him before she caught the keys he tossed to her, jumped in the driver's seat and no words reached her anymore.

It wasn't her first time driving a stick, but a 4x4 this size — holy shit, it'd been a dream of hers ever since she could remember — did he know? She didn't recall telling him. Either way, once she got the engine running, she didn't wanna stop, ever.

They mostly just rode along the beach, and it wasn't as cool as it would've been if the sky wasn't gray with clouds, but damn — the engine roaring beneath her, her hands on the wheel, ocean breeze in her lungs — she couldn't remember the last time she felt the wind in her sails like that. Probably when she last rode a cruiser. Her old Honda Shadow; damn, she loved that bike.

"Having fun?"

"Not as much as riding a bike, but it'll do." She teased, throwing him a sideway glance.

"You do realize you don't need to tell me this twice, right?"

She shot him a wicked grin, a shiver of excitement running down her arms at the image springing to her mind — damn, the thought of riding bikes with him—

"I bet I know your taste. I think I'd make a perfect guess."

"Arrogant as usual." She raised a brow at him.

"Always." He grinned back.

In fact, she didn't doubt it. When it came to motor vehicles, they loved the same things, of that she was sure; as well as she felt it in her bones he loved speeding as much as she did.

For the first time in a while, she lost the track of time completely. The teal of the ocean to their left, the never-ending plane of white sand marked with occasional crooked coconut palm trees with their lightly-swaying crowns, not a living soul in sight — the view was breathtaking even under a sunless sky.

On their way back, they switched spots and he took over the wheel. She left the driver's seat with unhidden reluctance, but soon lost herself in the view to the right: the endless, fuzzy path of waves drawing light shapes on the wet sand; too calm to hear with the engine roaring, but mesmerizing enough with just the sight itself.

"What are we doing?" she asked when he turned left and pulled over under one of the palm trees marking a path towards what seemed like a forest.

"Why, wanna go home already?"

"Hell, no," she said, jumping out of the car. "Not that I don't like home, but—"

"I'm glad you like home," he said when their eyes met. The words were laced with his usual smug amusement, but the look in his eyes made her hold her breath and look away.

"So… where to?" she asked hastily.

A while later, she didn't ask questions anymore; once they made their way through the path of tropical shrubs and bushes and ended up standing in a tiny clearing with a little pond in the middle — all she could utter was pretty much nothing.

And she didn't even register all of it, at first — it took her a little moment to look up the wall of ferns and moss-covered boulders and realize where the soft splash of cascading water came from.

"Thought you might like it."

It was perfect. Unnaturally perfect. The whole setting, the scent in the air, birds tweeting, and this waterfall; unreal.

They left their clothes on the grass and stepped into the little pool. The water was a bit on the cool side but felt divine; submerging herself in the crystal blue depths made her moan from the sensation.

"You've been here before," she said, swimming up to him after a while.

"Once or twice," he replied casually, but one look at his face told her it was neither once or twice, and not even close. She didn't know why he'd lie about something like this, but it left a little sour aftertaste, how smoothly he did.

The thought lingered for a while, till she stepped onto the grassy bank and he took his time drying her with a towel that appeared in his hand out of nowhere — and all the thoughts vanished, replaced by one — that it couldn't be good, really, that he could just switch her on and off like that by just wrapping a towel around her — but — well, fuck it, she loved it, all those little ways he paid attention to her.

The thunder roared softly in the far distance and, not even seconds later, the first little drops sprinkled on her shoulders. Judging by the dark-gray cloud that was now rushing straight towards them and how cold the air was starting to feel, it wasn't going to stop at just drizzle. But damn, she didn't want to go.

She looked towards him. It shouldn't surprise her anymore that he could make objects appear out of thin air, but it never ceased to, really — and so now when, with a wave of his hand, a tent materialized in front of them, she stood there awestruck for a moment.

"What?" he asked, his brows going up a little.

She suppressed a smile. "You do know how to make yourself useful, if you want to."

"Well, I quite like it when you use me."

She rolled her eyes and stepped into the tent. And, wasn't surprised that the inside didn't stay empty for long; when, in just a few moments, it was furnished with not just blankets and pillows but a very serious mattress with full bedding on it.

Just as she was burying herself in the sheets, almost light-headed with how blissful it felt to slip into the soft warmth with her body shivering from cold — just when she thought nothing could feel better — he asked her if she was hungry — and it made her mouth water before she could answer.

They had some fruit and cheese and, once she lay down, he joined her, and they stayed like that for a long while, just silent, staring at the see-through roof of the tent, the rain drumming softly on the fabric.

"It's so hot in here…" She pulled at the sheets after a while, baring herself when she felt her skin was about to break sweat. And caught him eyeing her up and down, a smug grin on his face.

"It is, isn't it?" he mused, his gaze stopping at her chest. "I got us a little heater, so you don't catch a cold."

"And turned it up to get me naked?"

"Well, it worked, didn't it?"

She smirked, her lids closing briefly. "Don't you ever get enough?"

"Of this…" he whispered, using his finger to outline the swell of her breast, "…never." He covered it with his palm, fondling gently. "Do you?"

"Well, not that I noticed." She sighed softly. There was no argument here, whatsoever; just his mere touch now was making her chest heave.

She was surprised when he stopped almost instantly, a deep breath following. She looked up, their eyes meeting, his gaze now completely different, pensive and serious.

"You didn't take the pill," he said, "the morning after."

She bit the inside of her lip, unsure of what to say, if to say anything at all. She didn't feel like thinking back to it. It felt like another lifetime. Not the one she wanted to go back to.

"I'm glad you didn't." He said, his hand going to her belly, palm covering the barely visible swell there.

"You are?" she whispered back, her stomach all fluttery when he kept touching around it.

"You seem surprised."

As a matter of fact, she was. She didn't expect him to run from responsibility, but she didn't expect him to be… happy about it, either. She frowned, overwhelmed with emotion flooding her when their eyes met.

Was he really — happy about it? She opened her mouth and closed it again, hesitant.

"What?" he asked.

"Nothing, I just… I didn't think you'd want it."

He huffed softly, looking down, his brows rising. "Funny… I didn't think you would."

"To be honest, neither did I. And I assumed you wouldn't, either."

There was a hint of something heavy in his gaze when he looked her in the eye. "Was that why you weren't gonna tell me?"

She swallowed, the bitterness in his voice causing the old guilt to creep back in. "I was gonna tell you, eventually."

"If we hadn't ended up in that hospital, I would've never known, and you would've been gods know where by now."

"But I am here."

"You are." He blinked, pressing his lips together, eyeing his open palm. "And this child is the only reason for that, isn't it?" he said quietly.

She inhaled deep, something tugging hard at her gut. Was he right? She opened her mouth but she couldn't tell anymore; those several days ago felt like another lifetime. And he was looking at her — in a way that made her want to deny it, pull him to her chest and tell him she — and just hold him there — and she bit her tongue, struggling to compose herself. "Whenever I was about to call you, the thought of telling you and hearing you say you didn't want it…" she paused, blinking, "…it stopped me every time."

His jaw muscles pulsed, his gaze softening. "You couldn't have reached me, anyway. The number you had was a burner I got rid of before I flew here."

She snorted, taken aback. Of course it was. She knew it; which made it all the more strange, the impact it hit her with now. She blinked angrily, not wanting him to see; closed her eyes with a bitter exhale. It felt ridiculous now, to think of all the times she'd almost dialled the number, all the time she'd spent thinking he was waiting for her call, that it was up to her. That he waited.

And he hadn't called, either. He was never going to. In fact, the only reason he'd tracked her down was, as absurd and ironic as it was, Alexis.

She swallowed the bitter lump growing in her throat as it hit her, so painfully clear now. "If you hadn't come across that file, you would've never come for me," she said blankly, annoyed with the stupid tears that she couldn't control anymore when he pulled her close.

"I fought with myself day and night not to call you."

"Why didn't you?" she said before she could stop herself.

"For what? To hear you say this can't work 'cause I'm bad for you?" he asked bitterly. "You've made yourself clear the first dozen of times you've said that, thanks."

He pulled further away and sat up.

She covered herself with the sheets, silent.

There was nothing to say. He was right. And it was true. He was bad for her. Or, had been. Because, somehow it didn't feel half as much so anymore. A bitter, stubborn part of her still claimed otherwise, but on the whole she couldn't fight it anymore, what his presence did to her, how good it felt when he was near. How bad when he wasn't.

Which still didn't mean she was about to jump head first, like he expected her to. "I needed time," she said. "I still do."

"Yeah, I noticed."

She scoffed, sitting up, annoyed with the sarcasm. "Well, sorry if it takes me more than several fuck dates to get to know a person."

"Oh, yeah? Didn't stop you from having me knock you up," the words slashed through her eardrums, hair standing up on the back of her neck.

She slapped him before she could think; so hard it stunned him for a second. Equally fast, he grabbed her and pinned her down to the mattress.

"Not that I didn't enjoy it," he said, his gaze wild. "But you saw it, didn't you… what your request did to me," his voice turned to a sultry whisper, her pelvic muscles spasming in response as the memory raided her mind, the flashback that had made her come undone as many times as it had gotten her furious at herself, and now made her livid, the way he threw it in her face, the embarrassing carelessness on her part that she'd cursed herself for ever since.

"I've never come so hard in my life…" he breathed in her ear, making her shiver, her muscles going limp like at the touch of a magic wand, her thighs spreading for him. "Never, not ever half as hard as when I imagined I was breeding you…" He nibbled on her earlobe. "You have no idea how many times I came thinking about it…"

She had no idea how many times she herself had, and she didn't want to know — but now, she couldn't control it, none of it; the sounds escaping her mouth, the wave of spasms in her lower abdomen causing her to buck underneath him in a reflex — she was done for; if he touched her now — if he as much as touched her, saw what he was doing to her—

"…judging by how wet my hand is now, I think we're on the same page here," he mused darkly as he reached between them and found what she ached for him to find. "I love it how we share the same kinks, baby," he breathed into her open mouth as he started taking her, inch by inch, till her voice was gone, her mind blank. "I told you we're made for each other…"

She bit her lip not to cry it out loud, but — fuck yes, they were — it was like he was in her mind, every next thing he did hitting just the spot, like he read her like a map he knew by heart, his voice in her ear whispering things she couldn't believe were able to send her towards the edge like that, maddening; whatever left his mouth when he was inside her, she was drunk on it.

"I love it that you're pregnant," he whispered between lazy kisses he pressed to her lips as their hips met in a slow, equally lazy rhythm. "The thought you're carrying my child… it's driving me crazy."

"You… are driving… me… crazy," she managed to utter, dying for him to keep talking, keep saying it, on the verge of begging him to, feeling that, if he did, she would simply just faint.

"I never loved fucking anyone… even a percentile that much…" he muttered, his face in her neck, warm and nuzzling, "…tell me it's the same for you…"

"Can't you tell? You're about to kill me…" Her nails sunk into the mattress as her vision went black, or white, both; she couldn't tell anymore.

"I very much intend to…"

They lay in long, sated, lazy silence afterwards; her on her back, barely conscious, him on his side, propped on his elbow, his eyes roaming over her bare chest, his palm following, cupping her breast and holding, barely squeezing. She pushed herself more into his hand, and he kneaded softly for another while, making her core pulse, making her want him again. The rain seemed to be dying down, hardly audible, the soft tapping against the textile of the roof — or she went deaf from the force of her climax; she wouldn't be surprised.

Her lids heavy, she let her head fall to the side.

She didn't meet his gaze; it was sweeping over her skin lazily, greedily, so long that she squirmed a little inside. She wasn't the one to be self-conscious about her body; but then again, no other eyes on her felt like this, devouring every inch of her in a way that stripped her more naked than physically possible. She both loved and hated it; loved it how his eyes went all hazy when he ogled her, hated the annoying sensation tugging at her gut when she thought how many women he had to compare her to. With his looks and his sex drive, it would easily be hundreds if he was a mortal man. If his lifespan truly amounted to dozens of centuries, doing the math was making her sick to her stomach.

"I love your breasts," he said absent-mindedly, his gaze transfixed on the tender flesh filling his palm. "I love all of you. But your tits I love the most."

"I would've never guessed," she said smoothly, a wave of flutter washing over her.

He responded with that fiendish, boyish half-grin of his, and dipped down, blowing air over her skin, running his tongue over the hardening tip, making her shudder. "I love it how crazy it makes you when I kiss them," he whispered, making her curse and groan.

It was an understatement; with how sensitive her chest was, the way he always gave it his full attention made her weak in the knees, seeing how it turned him on only adding to it; the way his mouth parted, his eyes going misty like this. So lost in it, so enthralled, every time; every time like it was the first.

It wouldn't last like that. She would get old. He wouldn't. It was the realization that hit her like a bucket of ice-cold water the other day; she couldn't get it out of her head ever since. They needed to talk about this.

She smirked, feeling foolish. What was there to talk about? It was what it was. There was no solution to this.

But she didn't want to think about it now. Not now, not when she just managed to put a pause on life and get this little moment of peace that she hadn't even realized how much she needed. The moment that would be soon gone.

She pushed him flat onto his back and pulled a blanket over them, losing herself in following the hasty rhythm of the raindrops still softly hitting the tent fabric from the outside. "I didn't mean to get pregnant," she said all of a sudden. She needed him to know it, that it wasn't what it seemed like.

"I know," he answered almost instantly, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world.

"You do?"

He let out a low chuckle, his breath warm over her forehead. "It's called a breeding fetish."

She frowned. "What?"

"You get off fantasizing about it. Doesn't mean you actually want it."

"I did no such thing." She grimaced, annoyed with the smug grin she could hear in the air without even looking at him. Did he get hit on the head? The only times she would think about getting pregnant was how to prevent it from happening.

No, she was just fucked up enough to swoon at whatever he said or did to her, that was what it was.

"It never turned me on, either," he said, his lips brushing her temple. "You — are making me like weird things."

"I'm tired." She shifted and turned her back on him, suddenly very aware of how her pulse started racing.

She expected him to pick up on it and tease her, but he just snaked an arm around her waist and drew her to his chest, burying his face in the nape of her neck, the rough touch of his stubble sending a pleasant little shiver over her.

"I'm serious. Having kids…" he spoke all of a sudden, his breath warm on her neck, sending a tingle down her back, another tingle when his palm went to her stomach, "…it's not something I've ever wanted before, either." He let out a deep sigh and chuckled. "The first time it crossed my mind was actually here, two months ago…" he trailed off, grunting. "It's stupid." He let out a little chuckle.

She froze, placing her hand on his forearm wrapped around her waist, and squeezed, disarmed to see him nervous like this. "Tell me."

He didn't. Not at first. She kept her hand on his forearm, fingertips brushing up and down the dense path of soft, dark hair there, her pulse loud in her chest, ears perking up the second he spoke.

"There was this kid…" he took a breath in and huffed softly. "She ran up to me and… she looked a bit like you, and I wondered—" he paused and smirked a little, "I wanted to call you and tell you that… thank gods I was too shitfaced to."

Her grip tightened on his forearm, her vision blurring as she whispered. "I wish you had."

"Drunk-called you to say I wanna have kids with you? I can already hear the answer, no thanks."

She blinked, her tears falling. "You know what I would've told you if you'd called me back then?"

"Oh, I do — and that's precisely why I didn't."

She wiped her eyes and turned around, rolling to her side till she faced him. "I would've told you I can't."

"What?"

"Very slim chances, from what I've been told."

He arched his brows, his mouth curling up in a smile. "We got lucky, then," he said, gently rubbing her belly, glancing up at her, his grim features lit up with joy she'd never seen there.

She blinked hastily, averting her gaze, afraid that if she didn't, her chest would burst right open.

"It's funny, you know… the things you find yourself wanting as you get old…" He smirked. "Well, I know this one took me well over hundred thousands of years." His face turned serious, brows furrowing slightly as he kept staring at his hand on her stomach. "Or, maybe just you," he said, raising his eyes, making hers about to overflow.

Why the hell was she crying? She hid her face in his neck, unable to hold back a wave of tears as he gathered her in his arms again, his hand on her head making her fall apart like it always did, for some reason; like a push of a button. One of many he knew how to push.

But at the moment, it didn't bother her anymore. At that moment — and yes, they had issues, many things were wrong and some hopelessly so — but all she could think of now was his face when he told her about the girl, and that she wished she'd turned around to see it, the way she knew he cast his eyes down, blinking, lips twitching in that soft little smile she loved — and maybe, everything else shouldn't matter that much. Maybe, it didn't have to be hard and complicated at all.

Maybe, she should just let it happen.

She drew a slow breath in, her gaze going to the tent's half-open entrance and the little peek it gave of the outside. She clearly missed the moment when the storm passed, because what she remembered to be a plain grey sky was now fresh blue, the late afternoon sun casting a lazy glow over the dewy, lush greenery, birds starting to chirp; like the day was about to start, not end.

A part of her ached to sneak out and feel it with her bare feet, the moist grass, take an inhale, fill her lungs with it, with this air that smelled like nothing she knew, damp-green, rich in this salty sweetness that was starting to feel like a drug. But another part of her was content staying just where she was, their little grunts intermingling as she adjusted herself by his side, pressing her nose to the warm skin she rested her cheek on, the spot between his shoulder and armpit, breathing him in.

"I love it… when you do it," he muttered, grunting softly.

"Do what?"

"When you smell me like this."

"I do no such thing," she protested automatically, feeling the smile take over her face.

"I love smelling you, too," he said, his fingers closing around her wrist, guiding her palm up his chest till it rested below his collarbone; she traced patterns all around the spot, loving the soft little sighs leaving his lips, like he was an instrument she was strumming with her fingers.

"You're so sensitive, I love it," she mused, closing her eyes.

"Honestly — I'm as surprised as you are."

"What do you mean?"

"I never even liked being touched. With you… it's so different… feels different…" he whispered, lazily grazing her shoulder with his fingertips, "…everything."

She let her hand roam lower, over the soft coat of hair of his chest and stomach, wondering what everything included, and if he expected her to actually believe that in all of his endless life, there was still something he hadn't experienced. The thought he was telling the truth, that it was for him what it was for her — felt like a warm shiver inside her; made her want to stay here forever.

#

She stood and watched, lost in the scene; the setting sun casting the last lazy rays of orange over the backyard patio and pool, the waves buzzing softly in the distance.

It wasn't possible, for life to be — this. Not for her. She didn't deserve it. Not this, not this peace of mind, not this elating sense of things being so right. This whole day, ever since she woke up — it almost felt like a joke the fate played on her, a cruel one, showing her a taste of what life could feel like, if things were different. If she deserved them to be. If the two of them weren't who they were.

What it would feel like, to have a home; that was the most cruel.

She took a deep breath in, one last wistful look, blinking the tears away before walking back inside — and raising her brows at the sight of him hanging a monstrous TV screen on the wall. "Where did that come from?"

"Got this on my way back home this morning. Figured we might wanna watch something tonight." He turned to her, making her smile, how hopeful his gaze was. "Oh, and uh, got you a phone, it's on the table. Wasn't sure if you had one, so if you do, you have an extra."

"I um…" She blinked, silent and processing for a moment, a wave of warmth washing over her. "Thanks."

She walked over to the kitchen area, grabbed an apple and leaned against the counter, taking in the surroundings. This whole room, with the coziness of everything in it, with him trying to make it into a home for them, with this careless, summer afternoon vibe that filled her like oxygen — it made her stomach tighten almost painfully. Because she couldn't love it, couldn't get used to it; to something that couldn't last. She wasn't good at taking losses.

She reached to her face hastily, wiping the eye corners with her thumbs, blinking to compose herself. With a little sniff, she took a bite of the apple she forgot she was holding.

"Hungry already?" He threw her an amused glance across the room as he finished.

"Just an apple." She couldn't help a little smile, seeing the pride on his face as he approached her.

"Speaking of which," he pulled her close, "what about all those weird cravings you're supposed to have when pregnant?"

"I don't know… guess I only have normal cravings." She locked eyes on his, her lips parting as her free hand went to roam over the front of his pants.

"Well, luckily there's quite a bit of it to keep you sated," he uttered, his eyes closing with a sigh.

"That's what I love about it…" She said, humming in approval at his growing arousal, "…and how it's always ready…"

"It's only with you," he whispered looking her in the eye, stroking up and down her thighs after he sat her on the countertop behind her. "And I love it how you're always ready for me…" he said, his lips finding her ear, making her shiver.

"It's only with you," she stopped herself from whispering back, her neck arching for his roaming mouth.

"Let me," he whispered afterwards, when she reached for the nearby roll of paper towel to clean herself; and she was too caught off guard to protest, and so let him, something overwhelming paralyzing her, the raw intimacy of it; him, eyes locked on hers, the touch, so tender that she wanted to cry, when it — just flooded her, this — whatever he was doing to her — she felt it with her whole body, all of her, every little part of her screaming out in this raw longing that felt like a punch to the gut, in a way that nothing felt before — and yet familiar, so very familiar — like she'd been fighting it since forever.

"What did you say my name was?" she asked on a sudden impulse.

He frowned a little, mouth agape; he took a little moment to answer. "Xena."

The sound of it; she shuddered, almost. And, there was something in his eyes, anxiety, as if. "You don't want me to remember, why?" It wasn't hard to guess. Something had gone down between them, something he'd done, something that was now causing uneasiness to spread over his face. It ticked her off, not knowing, his keeping it from her. Whatever it was, that had to be it — the reason why she felt she had to resist him, that she couldn't trust him.

He blinked, breaking his gaze. "We were different back then. I was different," he said, his brows arching, then furrowing.

"Different how?"

"I didn't know how to handle you. Couldn't admit to myself how I felt about you, couldn't bring myself to tell you. You didn't exactly react well when I finally did… then again, I didn't exactly act like it." He huffed, a corner of his mouth rising in a bitter expression. "I couldn't, it got me all — I wasn't ready for it. Till it was too late."

It unsettled her, somehow, how bitter and distant he'd get whenever he talked about it, irked her how vague he was. She never pushed for detail — her curiosity grew over time, but, for whatever reason, it was still weirdly triggering to touch the subject of their past lives. "So, what's different now?"

"I don't know, I just… guess I'm not afraid anymore."

"Of what?" Afraid? It was the one word she'd never associate with him.

"This," he spoke after a while, his hands lingering on her waist, fingers tracing patterns on the bare skin, sending little shivers over her, his touch, or his words, she didn't know anymore; all of it, all of him. "Of this. Letting you in, and… have me… all of me."

She closed her eyes, her breath hitching; when she opened them again, she was drowning in his, her heartbeat pulsing in her ears, chest welling up with — what was he doing to her? — it filled her like air, like he just said what she'd been aching to hear since before she could remember, since forever.

"Wish you weren't afraid, either," he added quietly, his fingers warm on her neck, under her ear, outlining the earlobe.

"Show me I don't have to be."

"I will… I want you to feel safe with me… to trust me…"

Her nose felt ticklish as her eyes welled up. "I do… feel safe with you."

"You do?" He asked in a whisper, his mouth parting a little as he pressed his thumb to her chin in a soft, stroking motion. "Gods, I… uhm…" he trailed off, his lashes fluttering as he blinked and swallowed, as if the words on the tip his tongue, his thumb moving to her cheek, wiping off the wet trail there. "I'm glad you do," he said, his chest heaving a little, like hers. "I wish you felt what I'm feeling." He bit his upper lip in a soft smirk. "I can hardly breathe when I look at you."

She smiled faintly; really, how clueless was he? Her heart went up to her throat when he said those things looking at her like this, things she had to bite her tongue not to whisper back to him, her chest expanding with something — not air, for sure, because she could hardly breathe, herself.

"You feel like a missing part of me," he whispered, their noses brushing. "…and make me say things that would normally give me cringe to even think," he went on, smiling against her lips, "…if I was sane, that is."

"That ship has sailed for both of us, I'm afraid." She smiled back, and leaned in, her mouth finding his, a tingle running down her arms, up her back, all over her.

"Good," He whispered against her lips, pressing his forehead into hers, weaving his fingers into her hair. "Fuck sanity… I lost mine the second I saw you walk into my office that day."

"And here I thought it was you messing with my mind."

"Me… messing with your mind?" He smirked. "Are you blaming me for how crazy you are about me?"

"Am I? I don't know what makes you think so."

"Oh, really? Let me remind you, then." He squeezed her thighs, wrapping them around his hips before lifting her up and moving them to the sofa, her astride him, where he kept proving his point till her muscles went all quivery and she couldn't see anymore; and he had to carry her to the bath afterwards.

They must have been there a while because it was dark outside when they came back to the living room. It was amusing and disarming, somehow, to see him in a bathrobe, sprawled over the sofa with his hair wet, a TV remote in his hand, like he was — just human, like they were just a regular couple living their regular daily life in their house in the suburbs, bickering over what to watch for the night like they'd known each other since forever. Life so foreign that she didn't know if she longed for it or was mortified by it.

She still waited, for it to crumble, for tension to come back — for them to argue, at least, because it was really starting to unsettle her, how quiet this whole day had been. How normal it felt, how real, all of it; how calm and safe it felt to be here, melting into the soft, bright cushions around them, her gaze tracing across the ceiling, along the never-ending rope with little lightbulbs basking the room in the warm, cozy-evening glow. The dark blue of the starry night outside, cicadas buzzing in the distance, the subtle murmur of the ocean in the background — a postcard-perfect backdrop to it all — how messed up she was, really, for all of this to freak her out.

And him — there, next to her, in the middle of all this, relaxed as she'd never seen him, and so oblivious. He didn't even realize. Did he think he could have a normal life with her? He didn't know the real her, he was just blind under the spell of this haze she was drowning in, too; like someone cast it on both of them.

"You're insane if you think I'll believe you don't like war movies. And come on — the Platoon — it's a fucking classic—" and he went on, mentioning the biggest titles of the genre, all of which she'd seen and loved. And didn't feel like watching ever again.

"Are you done?" She sighed with mock-exasperation, amused with the whole scene, how agitated he got over something so trivial.

Of course he loved war movies. She had a feeling they loved so many things together that it would likely be disturbing to see the whole list. War; of course he loved anything war. But he didn't need to know how much she did, too. For some reason, she'd rather not share it with him. That the very thought of watching all those movies with him gave her goosebumps head to toes.

He eyed her for a silent while, a quizzical expression on his face, then laughed and gave up, handing the remote to her with a dramatic rise of his eyebrows. She took it without a word. Well, it was time for him to learn who held the power here.

"You know what?" he said, snaking an arm around her to draw her to his lap. "You — are enjoying it a bit too much, for my taste."

"I have no idea what you're talking about." She kept pressing buttons on the remote, biting down on her lower lip to stifle a grin threatening to take over half of her face.

"Soccer?" he frowned when the TV turned green all over.

"You got a problem with that?" She shot him a narrow-eyed glare.

He smiled, shaking his head, his brows arching up high. "Now I really wanna marry you."

She blinked, turning her gaze back to the screen in front of them before she could catch a breath, before he could tell she had trouble catching one.

"I'm not kidding," he said after a while, his voice lower, serious, fucking up all the effort she put into composing herself.

"I'll pretend I didn't hear that." She kept staring at the TV screen, not really seeing anything, and thinking that she was actually sleepy and should probably go to bed.

"What would you say if I proposed to you?"

"I'd say you're losing it."

"I think you'd say yes."

"You are losing it."

He pulled her closer, his chest pressing against her back. "Your pulse is racing," he whispered in her ear, his hand roaming under her breasts. "It excites you that much or you're scared?"

She pulled away, annoyed with the thudding in her chest, and that he picked up on it; and that his stupid question echoed in her mind on repeat, and she didn't even know the answer. All she knew was that her life had an expiration date and his didn't, which this pointless conversation just reminded her of.

"It pisses you off, that much is clear," he said, smug amusement in his voice.

Well, she wasn't in the mood. "And how's that gonna work? I'll grow old and you'll move on? What's my expiration date? Five years? Ten?"

He swallowed hard, blinking as his chest expanded with a breath. "Depends how you'll age, I guess," he still attempted at humour, very stupidly so, because she was in a state where she bit down her lip hard not to say what she was bound to regret right after.

She headed outside, away from his voice that still echoed behind her, some words she didn't hear anymore as she stepped off the warm floor of the patio and into the soft, cool sand. The sky was beautiful, a dark shade of blue and dotted with stars packed so densely that it looked unreal, like photoshopped.

"Hey," his voice resounded somewhere behind her, the sound of footsteps following. He stood right behind her, she could feel the heat radiating off him. "I didn't mean that."

"Doesn't matter," she said, a lump growing in her throat; she waited for it to pass and blinked the tears away. She didn't want him to see it affected her like this. "It doesn't change anything."

"It doesn't, but can we — not do this now?"

She huffed, pursing her lips; of course he didn't. That was how he tackled life, that was his level of responsibility — disconnecting himself from reality and anything he didn't feel like facing at the moment. "Well, it's not going anywhere, so we'll have to talk about eventually."

"Why are you doing this?" he asked, a frown in his voice.

"Doing what?"

"You can't just kick back and let go, ever, can you? There always has to be a problem for you."

Baffled, she swung around to face him. "Oh, I'm sorry to ruin your mood, but a part of being adult and mature is facing and solving problems, not pretending they're not there."

For a minute or two, they were like two statues, solid and lifeless, silent. Her mind went so numb she couldn't recall what they talked about. She could feel a headache settling in the back of her head.

"Can you drop it for now?" he asked, his tone softening. "Just for tonight." He exhaled noisily. "Please."

God, it kicked in — she squeezed her eyes shut under the force of it, the cramping in the back of her head. "I'm going to bed."

"What's wrong?"

"I'm fine." She was about to pass him by but he halted her.

"You're not fine, you're in pain." He grabbed her forearm.

"Just a headache."

"We should check it out."

"It's just a headache." She said with annoyance, trying to free herself from his grasp.

"You're not supposed to have headaches anymore."

"Don't open your fucking mouth, then," she hissed to herself, but he did hear. Seeing the look on his face, she regretted it in a heartbeat, taken aback herself by the load of venom in her voice.

She saw the twitch in his jaw, the rise and fall of his chest, for a second before all she could see was his back disappearing inside the house, a sound of breaking glass following. She turned her back on it, her gaze fixing on some invisible point in the distance, somewhere over the shiny backs of the waves marking the dark horizon. The pulsing in her head subsiding, she stared, didn't know how long, till she couldn't bear it anymore.

She found him standing by the pool, a full glass in his hand. She had a snarky comment on the tip of her tongue but bit her lip. "I'm sorry," she said instead, surprised by how easy it came, how good it felt.

He kept standing with his back to her, taking a good sip or two of his drink before acknowledging her presence; well, not even that, because he just turned around, not even looking her way.

Well, she didn't have to stand there and take it, his punishing her with silence. She did apologize. If he was going to go all moody on her, she was leaving. And was about to, a hair-width from — and didn't know what overcame her, but it was like a bolt hit her — closing the distance between them, she snatched the glass from his hand and tossed it to the floor behind him. "Don't do this," she said, her fingers locking around his forearms, her eyes seeking his.

"I didn't do anything," he said eventually, his voice flat and emotionless.

"This." She let go of him, pointing to the shards of broken glass on the floor.

"Didn't do that, either."

She shut her eyes and exhaled tensely — why did it even bother her, anyway? It was just a glass, it wasn't like he was drinking himself into oblivion. But last night he'd done the same, and it was way more than a glass. Still, she didn't know why it triggered her like that. "Do you have to drink?"

"When you open your mouth, I do."

She clenched her teeth, her knuckles going white, the words ringing in her ears. He would normally say it as light banter, but there was nothing light about it now, his voice like a blade of steel; she could swear the air felt colder where he stood. "I'll leave you to it, then."

His jaw twitched, lips tensing into a line; she expected him to snap, or leave. Well, anything but what came after.

"Come here," he said softly, a contrast to how violently he grabbed her and encased in his arms, his hands warm and firm on her, her back, then gentle on her head, stroking softy, like he was soothing a child — it was too much, like something was about to burst inside her, her chest clenching, goosebumps down her arms as she struggled for breath — and she wanted to stay there and never leave.

"Don't let go of me," she blurted in a whisper when she felt his hold loosen on her; and he didn't, and held her tight, tighter than before.

"I won't," he kept saying, his voice soft and breathless in her ear, only making it worse, tears streaming down her face like he pushed some button and kept it pressed.

She squeezed her eyes shut at the sharp pang in the back of her skull, but bit her lip not to make a sound. He would start fussing over her, and it was nothing, she just needed to rest, she was overstimulated.

In fact, as soon as he carried her back to the sofa, pulled her to his chest and threw a blanket over them, it all went away, his heavy, fragrant warmth encasing her, blissfully anaesthetizing; there was nothing else but them.

Nothing else but him.