Page 105 of Eternal

My forehead pressed to hers, both of us panting like we just ran through war. Maybe we did. “I already do,” I whispered. My voice was wrecked. “Want this. Want you. ”

Her hand grabbed my collar, tight. “You’re supposed to be the one who ruins me,” she said. “Not the one who makes me feel.”

“Too late for that,” I muttered, mouth grazing hers again. “You already feel like home. It’s way too late.”

She let out this broken little laugh, sharp and wet, tipsy, beautiful. “I hate this. I hate you for staying.”

“I know.” I kissed her jaw, slowly. Down to her neck. “Hate me later. Want me now.”

Her hands slid under my shirt, cold fingers against hot skin. I groaned. She leaned in, lips brushing my ear.

Our mouths met again, no grace.

Just crash and burn.

She kissed me like a dare. I kissed her like a confession.

“You don’t get to disappear after this,” she whispered, voice ragged.

“I won’t,” I said against her lips. “Even if I should. Even if you beg me to.”

She didn’t pull away. Instead, her fingers tangled into my hair, pulling me deeper, harder, and I could feel her heart thudding against my chest. Like a silent scream, a promise we both knew we couldn’t keep forever.

We stayed there. Kissing and touching, caressing her skin, her hair, her soul, like I was dying to. And feeling her fingers pull me closer, explore, like she ever felt this way.

She moaned low in her throat, desperate and angry. “You make me need you. That’s not fair.”

“Then need me,” I growled, hands pulling her closer, pressing into every place that made her tremble. “Use me. Fucking ruin me back.”

Again and again, for minutes we kissed, the night settled in slowly and I was still devouring her, and she was still pulling me in. She kissed me.

My Azra was kissing me and I loved it.

When we finally pulled away, she rested her forehead against mine, both of us panting, our breaths coming out ragged. I could feel the pulse of her heartbeat against my chest, like it was the only thing anchoring me to this moment. To her.

She didn’t kiss me back, not really. Just leaned in close enough to shatter both of us, whispered against my mouth like she didn’t want the words to live long enough to echo.

“Thank you for the breakfast…”

Her breath was warm. Her voice… wrecked.

I didn’t chase her lips again. I just watched her.

Then she blinked, pulled back, her brows knitting together like she was slowly waking up to what she’d done, what we were doing.

She stood up suddenly, brushing sand from her thighs, hoodie falling low over her shorts, curls messily tucked into that loose, falling bun she always did when she stopped caring how she looked.

But she still looked beautiful.

Heartbreaking, actually.

Like something a poet would write about and never recover from.

“I’m still mad at you,” she said, her voice too soft to sting.

I stayed seated, elbows resting behind me, watching her silhouette walk toward the shoreline. One foot in front of the other like she was on a tightrope made of pain.

The bottle dangled lazily from one hand.

Her hoodie flapped gently in the breeze, salt catching in the threads, in the ends of her loose curls.

I didn’t move.

Not until she stopped, close enough to the water that the foam almost kissed her toes. Her shoulders were curved in, like the wind was trying to whisper through her ribs.

That’s when I stood.

Slow. Quiet.

I didn’t call her name. I just walked until I was behind her and wrapped my arms around her waist. My palms found her stomach first, then slid up gently beneath the fabric of her hoodie, until they rested just under her ribs. I could feel the trembling there.

She froze, and I spoke against the curve of her neck, low and unsure. “I never hugged anyone before you.” Her breath hitched. “I was never hugged either. So, I don’t know if I’m doing it right,” I added.

She didn’t say anything, but she didn’t push me away.

Her arms dropped a little, the bottle still in her hand.

I turned her slowly in my arms, until she was facing me, eyes glassy and far away. I pushed her some curls back, gently. Let my fingers run along the frayed line of her scar like it was a constellation I’d been chasing across lifetimes.

“You always have cold hands,” I said. “I hated thinking about why.”

She sniffed, barely.

“I know what it meant when no one noticed. I just… I wanted you to have something that said I see you. That I won’t forget. Even if you're mad. Even if you never forgive me. Please keep them.”

I slipped my hand into my coat pocket and pulled out the gloves.

She looked at them like they weren’t real.

“Put them on,” I said, voice thick. “Think of me when your hands get cold.”

Her fingers were slow and clumsy, but she let me help her. I pulled the gloves onto her hands, one at a time, my thumb brushing over each of her knuckles like I could rub out the history etched beneath her skin.

And when I looked up, she was crying. Silent, just a single tear catching on the corner of her mismatched eyes.

“I didn’t want to feel anything for you,” she whispered.

“Too late,” I said, and kissed her again, slower this time. Full of ache. Full of every fucking thing I wasn’t allowed to feel for her. I was just waiting for her to destroy me.

I knew she could. And I’d accept it.

Her hands tangled in my coat. My arms wrapped around her like she might fall apart if I didn’t keep holding her together.

When we pulled apart, we were both breathing like we’d run a mile through grief.

“I’m taking you home,” I said, resting my forehead against hers.

“I can’t leave my bike,” she mumbled, tired now. Small.

“I’ll come get it in the morning,” I said softly. “You’re more important right now.”

She let out a quiet, hoarse laugh. “You think of everything.”

“I knew you’d come here with your bike. Put a tracker on it yesterday.”

Her knees buckled a little and I caught her again. This time, she didn’t fight me. Just leaned in. “You’re insane.”

“I’ll run you a bath. I’ll braid your hair. I’ll feed you dinner and even make you breakfast in the morning.”

“Don’t make promises,” she murmured into my chest. “Not when you might still have to kill me.”

I tightened my arms around her. “Do you still think I want to?”

She looked up at me. “Don’t you?”

“No,” I said, mouth near her temple.

Her fingers found the front of my shirt and clenched, hard. “Then what?”

“Then I’ll stop them,” I whispered. “And I’ll kiss you again, Azra.”

Her head dropped back to my shoulder.

And I held her there, beneath the stars, hands warm in the gloves I gave her.

My partner and I.