“Then don’t move.”
A ghost of a smirk touches his mouth.
Even now.
I clean the wound on his shoulder.
He tenses.
“Stay with me,” I say softly.
“I am,” he replies.
But his eyes don’t leave mine.
Not once.
And that’s when I feel it.
That shift.
That pull.
Stronger now.
Closer.
Real.
“You scared me,” I admit before I can stop myself.
Silence.
Then—
“You don’t get to say that,” he says quietly.
My hands still.
“Why not?” I ask.
“Because you were the one under fire,” he replies.
His voice is rough.
Frustrated.
Controlled just barely.
“And you weren’t there,” I say.
The words slip out.
Soft.
But heavy.
His jaw tightens.