Page 294 of Let Me In

Then I open my eyes. Look at him. And it hits me, all over again—what it means to have him here. Whole. Mine. My chest aches with it, like my heart is trying to catch up to the sight of him.

He’s watching me like he doesn’t know what to do with the tenderness in my touch. Like it’s undoing him inch by inch.

So I keep going.

I brush my fingers down his arms again. Let them rest at his wrists.

“Did you eat?” I ask softly.

He hesitates. A flicker of something unreadable crosses his face.

“I had something yesterday,” he says.

That doesn’t count.

I don’t press, but I let my disapproval show—just a little—by the way I slide my hands back to his face, thumbs stroking slow again.

“I made breakfast,” I say, voice hushed but firm. “It’s still warm.”

His gaze softens. Drops to my mouth. Then back to my eyes.

And he nods.

“Alright, baby.”

He shifts forward, stands up with me still tucked close, and carries me back to the kitchen.

When he steps in and sees it—the plate on the counter, the tea still warm in its mug—something in his whole body changes.

Like a slow breath he didn’t know he was holding finally exhales through his chest.

Like this… this is what he never thought he’d have again.

The tea. The light. The girl in his arms.

He sets me down gently on the counter stool, then sits across from me.

I reach for the fork. Cut a bite. Hold it up to his lips.

He doesn’t make a sound.

Just opens his mouth and lets me feed him.

Like it’s a gift.

Like he trusts me with the most vulnerable thing there is—his hunger.

I feed him another bite. And another.

And the whole time, he never looks away.

His eyes are pale steel. Cool gray. Quiet and soft and wrecked.

But in them, I see it.

The way he’s returning to me.

One breath at a time.

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