Page 146 of Eternal
I move toward the sink, rinsing the dishes. It’s not something I usually do, but something about it feels right, helping her, in whatever way I can. I don’t need to make her feel like she’s doing everything. I’ve watched her do it, been on the receiving end ofher care, but tonight, it feels like I should be the one doing the work.
She turns to find me elbow-deep in suds, scrubbing at a plate. Her eyes widen, her lips curling into a small, amused smile.
Andfuck, I want to kiss it.
“Look at you,” she teases, crossing her arms. “You really know how to make a girl feel special.”
I chuckle, keeping my focus on the plate, but there’s a warmth in my chest that I can’t understand. What the fuck am I doing here? This is not a part of the plan. “Husband and wife, remember? I'll always do the cleaning for my special partner.” The words slip out too easily. I don’t even know why I say them, only that something about tonight makes the idea feel less like a joke.
She rolls her eyes, but there’s affection behind it. “Delusional.”
I finish the last plate and dry my hands, turning to face her.
I grab her by the waist and take her back to the sofa. I miss being able to look at her and talk to her closer.
She’s not like that when we’re outside. Not during missions, not during meetings with Vik and Kat.
Maybe it's because she's still thinking about Donovan? I don't know. But when she sits and covers her legs up with that same old cover of her brother, I can't look away and I forget everything about what led me to her.
Her braid looks so soft.
I shift a little, turning toward her. “You know,” I say, “last time, you were really patient with me... with the whole braid thing.”
She raises an eyebrow, glancing at me with a slight smile. “Mmh, I couldn't say no. You came here with ice cream.”
I laugh, shaking my head. “I'll bring more next time, I promise.”
But she’s already turning her head slightly, showing me the soft curve of her neck, the scar, her hair falling loosely around her shoulders. There’s a silent invitation in the way she moves, and my fingers itch to touch it again.
I don’t say anything for a moment, instead, I simply move closer, settling behind her, my fingers brushing her hair slowly, feeling the softness beneath my touch. My breath catches a little as I start to gather the strands that fell when she started cooking.
“I could... try again, if you want,” I murmur, my hands hesitating as I begin to separate her hair, unsure if I’m pushing my luck.
She doesn’t answer at first, but I catch the slightest curve of her lips, that soft and small smile she’s trying to suppress. “Well, if you want to learn better…”
I take a slow breath, fingers slipping through her hair again, but this time it feels heavier, like I'm holding onto something I shouldn't even think about. “I always want to learn with you.”
The words catch me off guard as they leave my mouth, and when I hear them, I can’t stop the thoughts. There’s a part of me that wants to take them back, shove them down before they get any more real, but the truth is already there.
It's raw, and it scares the hell out of me.
It's like... I'm learning things I shouldn't be. Like, how it feels to have someone near me that cares. To feel safe when I shouldn’t. To want things I shouldn’t want. To feel her warmth, her softness, like she’s a part of me, a part of something good and I'm so fucking lost in it, I can't breathe.
I don’t do things like this. I don’t sit in dim rooms, braid a woman’s hair, and whisper things I don’t even know I mean. But with her, I do.
She’s doing things to me; small things, innocent things that feel like fire and ice. The way she smiles, the way she breathes,like she’s a person... a home, a warmth I never had. Something I never learned to want.
I can’t have this. I know that.
But when I’m with her, I want to pretend I’m someone else, someone who doesn’t have blood on his hands, someone who can be...Damir. Her partner. I want to pretend I can stay here, in this moment, for a little longer, before reality rips it all away.
My hands keep moving, mechanically, pulling her hair into a braid, but it’s not the task I’m focused on. It’s the feel of her, the way her skin feels under my fingers when I move them down, the way she breathes.
She stiffens briefly, a habit, a reflex maybe, but then, slowly, she melts into it, as if some part of her is too tired to fight it anymore.
And then she exhales softly.
Her shoulders relax under my touch, and I find myself lingering, my fingers brushing her neck, traveling down her back, not wanting to let go, not wanting to stop.
