Page 116 of Eternal
I laugh, though it’s a little strained. “Your threat is stupid. I’d need to pee eventually.”
He leans back, that wicked smile still playing on his lips. “I’d let you pee, but I’d count to twenty seconds and then drag you back to bed.”
I shake my head and eat another spoonful, and he continues, “I’m serious. Be careful. We’ve got a lot of missions next week. I need you to be at least 70% better.”
He’s right. I’ve been pushing too hard tonight.
But I can’t shake this feeling in my stomach, not after Donovan, not after that fight. He gave me information, and I need to work on them.
“Hey?” His voice pulls me from my thoughts, and I feel his fingers brushing the side of my face, gently moving a stray strand of hair behind my ear.
I freeze. Did he just?
Yes, he did.
His touch is soft and for a split second, everything feels too close. He immediately catches himself, pulling his hand back. “I’m sorry,” he says quickly. “I don’t know why I did that. But yeah, promise me you’ll rest?”
I nod, “Promise.”
Damir’s eyes flick to my wet hair, his expression softening. “Your hair’s still damp. You’re gonna catch a cold.”
I groan. “That’s a misconception people have. You know that, right?” I reply, trying to deflect the concern, but he’s already reaching for the ice cream and setting it on the table.
When I see him stand, I raise an eyebrow. “What are you doing?”
His smile is wry. “I’m going to dry your hair. You don’t have to like it.”
“Damir, no. It’ll dry by itself,” I protest weakly, but he’s already pulling me toward the bathroom.
“Nope. You’re gonna sit here while I dry it, and then we’ll finish the ice cream.”
I open my mouth to argue but the next thing I know, I’m sitting in the bathtub with him behind me, gently working a towel through my hair.
“Do you even know what you’re doing? Curly hair isn’t easy to dry, it’s a whole process,” I murmur, watching his hands work through my hair.
He huffs a quiet laugh, and before I can react, his fingers slip to the back of my neck, his grip firm but easy. He tilts my head back slightly, his body closer now, his breath warm against my temple. “Of course,” he says, voice quieter now. “You always braid it after a shower whenever a mission ends or training ends. And I know you put something in it first. Smells like strawberries. Always does.”
His thumb lingers against my skin, and I glance up at him, raising an eyebrow. “You’ve been watching me?”
He reaches behind him, grabbing a bottle from the shelf, and when he flips the cap open, the familiar scent of strawberries fills the air. “Simply observant. For my partner,” he says.
His hands move through my hair with surprising ease, slow and sure, like he’s done this before. “Now, let me take care of you,” he murmurs. “Can’t have you running off before our next mission.”
And for the first time in a long time, I let myself believe it.
The warmth of his hands on the towel around my hair feels almost too tender, and for a moment, I forget the distance I've kept between myself and everyone else.
I know it’s wrong, letting him get this close, letting him care, even if it’s just for now. No one has ever stuck around long enough for it to matter, so why would Damir be any different?
His hands in my hair feel... too much, too easy. It’s almost like my mother’s hands when she used to do this, braiding my hair, smoothing it down before bed. And here he is, doing the same thing, touching me with this kindness I can’t make sense of.
Why would he be kind to me? People aren’t kind to people like me, they either leave or they hurt. That’s the only truth I know. But Damir... he doesn’t seem to see me like they did.
It’s like his touch is a promise, but promises are made to be broken, right? I know this.
So why does it feel so good? Why does it make me want to believe that maybe I could let myself have something like this for once, even if I know it’s not real? I’m too tired to fight it, to push him away like I usually do. I tell myself it doesn’t matter, that it won’t change anything, but I’m still so fucking scared that he’ll turn out like the rest, and I’ll be left with nothing but my own bruises to remember him by.
But what if, for once, I try to be selfish? What if I let myself have a friend?
