Page 44 of Eternal

“Guess I was in the mood for something relaxing tonight,” I tease, my voice more drained than I intended. I really am tired; I can feel it. And when someone is tired, they’re too weak to keep the mask on.

Maybe that’s why I let him in tonight. Maybe I wanted to feel like a normal girl, even if I knew I’d be too worn down to hide everything I keep to myself.

Damir scoffs, amused, but there’s something softer in the way he looks at me. It’s different from what I’ve been used to by now. “You look like you need some comfort today.”

I raise an eyebrow at him. “Maybe I do. Doesn’t mean you can stay too long.”

His grin only widens. “I’m not going anywhere. Besides…” He wipes his mouth with his tongue, eyes glinting mischievously. “I've got the ice cream. So, you’re stuck with me.”

A laugh slips out of me, and for a second, “Fine. You can stay.”

We eat in silence for a while, then Damir shifts. “It’s hot in your house,” he says, tugging at his hoodie. “Mind if I take this off?”

“Only if you’ve got a t-shirt under it. No naked you in this household.” My eyes flick over his broad shoulders for a fraction of a second longer than they should.

He catches it. “Stop checking me out,” he teases, his smirk wicked. “I might get the wrong idea.”

I lick my spoon slowly, not bothering to hide the way I glance at him. “Can’t help it.”

He looks good tonight, annoyingly so. His hair is still shaved on the sides, but it's grown out enough to be pushed back, apart from a stray piece that’s fallen against his forehead, his beard is short, more of a shadow than anything.

The tattoos creeping up his neck disappear under his sweatshirt, barely visible, but I know they’re there.

It’s not like I’ve never noticed before. But right now, in the low light, on my couch, dressed down in nothing but a sweatshirt and sweatpants, he looks...

Hot but comfortable, like this suits him as much as a weapon in his hand.

I don’t remember the last time I looked at a man and thought he was attractive, maybe because most men I’ve known weren’t the kind you stop to admire.

But he is, not that it matters. He’s my partner, and he’s been kind to me.

But again, I don’t trust kind .

But I’m too tired to think about that right now.

“You’re still checking me out, partner. Can I do the same, or are you gonna threaten me?” He smiles, faint, almost lazy, but he moves in closer to me.

“I wasn’t flirting, you creepy idiot.” I push him away, light but firm. But I’m still way too tired to fight even if it’s only games.

He doesn’t move back, instead, he looks down at my hand.

“Your hands are shaking,” he murmurs, voice quieter now, like he’s only noticing it. Then he reaches for my fingers, his touch careful.

I try to pull away, but he catches my wrist with ease, his grip firm yet careful. His touch is warmer than I expected, gentle almost.

A sharp ache flares in my side when he tugs me a little closer, and I wince before I can stop myself, the bandage is still fresh. “I should eat more sweets then,” I mutter, trying again to pull my hand back. He doesn’t let go.

Instead, he lifts my hoodie without asking. His fingers brush against my skin, more intimate than I’d like.

“Did it open again?” His voice is quieter now.

I keep my face neutral, but I feel it the moment he presses to test if I’d lie, pain stabs through my ribs, hard and unforgiving.

“No,” I say, but the tightness in my voice betrays me.

His thumb skims the edge of the bandage, slowly. For a second, I almost forget everything else, forget the pain, forget why he’s even here. It’s the feeling of his touch, warm, and healing.

“Such a pretty liar you make,” he murmurs.

I exhale sharply. “Fine. It did open again, but I stitched it up before you came in.” The words feel dragged out of me, like he’s pulling them free one by one.

His eyes harden slightly. “You did it yourself?”

I nod, our faces dangerously close, and I can feel the heat rising in my cheeks, my heart hammering in my chest. I pull the hoodie back down, attempting to shield myself, and take another bite of my ice cream, desperately trying to shift the attention elsewhere.

“Yep. Nothing too difficult. Almost fainted, though. So, thanks for the ice cream,” I say, trying to joke, but he stays focused on it.

When his fingers grazed my skin again on my cheek, I didn't pull away. Instead, I glance at him, watching his expression soften for a moment. “Be careful or I’ll lock you up in my house and feed you until you’re healed completely,” he says quietly.

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?

Kat and Vik… They’ve always been family. I never had to let them in when I closed the door on everything else. They were already there, back when I was a kid, but since then no one's tried hard enough to get through, to actually see what’s behind all those walls.

Maybe… maybe that’s what this is. Maybe this feeling is a crack, one I’m too tired to ignore. But will I let it stay open, or will I slam it shut, like I always do?

You’re overthinking, Azra.

A long sigh escapes me, my shoulders slumping slightly as I try to shake off the thoughts clawing at my mind. But even now, as his fingers slide through my hair so gently, I’m still wondering: what’s the deal with him? When will the moment come that I’m reminded why I never let anyone close?

His fingers pause in my hair, a flicker of hesitation, the soft sound of my damp strands shifting is the only noise in the room now.

“You’re quiet,” he murmurs, his voice hushed, like he's not sure whether to push me further or stop now.

“You wouldn’t understand,” I mutter, the words barely more than a whisper.