Page 48 of Eternal

AZRA

“Mind Over Matter” by Young The Giant

Present

W hy did I say yes?

Why the hell would I say yes?

Is it because we talk a lot more now? Is it really talking, though? Just sending each other random pictures at dumb hours of the day, like it means something?

I don’t even know. Maybe it’s easier now, getting up early to train. It’s quiet at 5 AM. Nobody’s around to disturb me. I can move through all three complexes and not feel like I’m pushing too fast since the injury is finally healing.

It’ll leave a scar, but what’s one more? What’s one more scar going to change about the way I look?

And I know he trains at night. Still out there doing whatever small missions he picks up, but Vik’s been telling me to stay out of it until I’m better.

He said it over dinner with Kat last night, and they both looked at me like I said something totally absurd when I mentioned the ice cream night with Damir.

Ice cream.

Vik shook his head like he couldn’t believe it, and Kat started applauding, giggling. I didn’t get it at first, but then I started overthinking.

He came. He brought me ice cream, did my hair, it was... soft. He even cuddled me until I fell asleep. Then he left. Why the hell does this sound like... we’re getting good at this? At being partners?

No.

I don’t trust him.

I spoke about my brother a little, enough for him to understand. But I was scared, scared that Damir would take that and use it against me. But why would he? He’s my partner. My fucking partner. So, I kept texting him. Kept it up, even when I wanted to stop.

And now... now I’m sitting next to him, eating my favorite burrito in the city. It’s quiet here, the bench overlooks the streets, the neon lights blur into shadows, everything feels a little distant from the chaos below. Peaceful... almost.

I pull my hoodie over my head and take another bite of food. Damir’s barely eating, he’s watching me.

“You gonna keep staring, or are you actually gonna eat?” I ask, my mouth half-full.

He tilts his head, lips twitching like he’s about to laugh. “You look nothing like your reputation in that.”

I glance down at myself, oversized hoodie, sweatpants, sneakers. Not exactly my usual attire. Comfortable. Warm. Soft.

“That’s the point,” I say, smiling through a bite of food. “It’s called blending in. Professional killer, remember?”

He hums, like he’s considering that. His eyes wander over me lazily. “Blending in?” He leans back, stretches one arm across the back of the bench. “You sure you didn’t want an excuse to steal my hoodie again?”

It looked really comfortable, and tonight is a bit windy. And it smells like him.

I swallow, licking sauce off my lip. “Maybe.”

His smirk widens, like he finds it fucking amusing. “Cute.”

I nudge him with my elbow. “I look better in it than you do anyway.”

He exhales a short laugh, shaking his head like I’m ridiculous. “You’re delusional.”

“No,” I reply with a grin, “I simply have eyes.” I take another bite, my mouth full again. “You’re all broad and stiff and broody. Meanwhile, I make this hoodie look like it was meant to be worn this way.” I pull the sleeves over my hands for emphasis, flashing him an honest smile.

His gaze drops to my hands, then slowly drags back up, like he’s taking inventory of everything about me. Like he sees something I don’t want him to see. “You might be right... I like it on you.”

Fuck me.

Why is he acting like that and why is it working on me?

I hit him in the arm and slap my hand over his mouth before he can say anything else. “You really need to stop flirting with me. It makes me want to punch you in the face.”

He laughs, and then... he kisses my palm.

He. Kissed. My. Palm?

The softest kiss, before he pulls me closer, way closer than I was before. Without a second to breathe, he whispers in my ear, “You stole my hoodie... might as well offer me some heat using your body, partner .”

I don’t say anything. I just shake my head, stuffing my face with food.

We eat in silence for a moment, thigh to thigh.

So close that I can smell him on my skin.

I shift, stretch my legs out. But his hand remains where it is, fingertips brushing against mine on the bench.

A barely-there touch. Intentional, or careless?

I don’t know. But I don’t pull away. I should. But I don’t.

I clear my throat, needing to fill the space between breaths. “I didn’t expect you to have a bike when I first met you. You ride it quite well.”.

Damir arches a brow, finally taking a bite of his food. “You sound surprised.”

I shrug, “Didn’t expect you to be good at something that actually requires patience.”

He chuckles, deep and smooth. “Oh yeah? And what exactly do you think I lack?”

I tilt my head, considering him, eyes scanning slowly. “Charm. Softness. Basic social skills if I might add.”

He huffs a laugh, shaking his head. “And yet, here you are. Eating dinner with me. Outside of work.”

I pause. My smirk falters.

Shit.

“I can’t say no to food,” I mumble, recovering quickly, “And we’re still team-bonding. Nothing to worry about.”

He laughs, “And you say I’m the one lacking social skills? My pretty partner, you’re worse than me.”

I mock shock. “No, I’m not. I have friends.”

He stops eating and looks back at me with that damn smile. “And who exactly?”

“I have Viktor. I have Kat, the dogs. Hmm…”

“Hmm?” He repeats, his voice lower this time. That sexy smirk still hanging on, and I’m so fucking attracted to him it feels like a problem.

“And you?” I ask, glancing at him.

He takes another bite of his food, looking out over the city. “I have you .”

“We’re not friends.”

He nods, that smirk still in place. “Yes, we are.”

“We barely know each other?”

“Oh yeah? Cause I know your favorite way to eat your food, your habits, your size, the way you fight, the way you smile, the way you laugh, that you have a soft spot for anything blue related.”

He knows that?

“What do you mean blue related?”

“An apartment with blue bookshelves and blue artworks everywhere isn’t a small hint to say it’s your favorite color.”

It is my favorite color. Blue.

“What’s yours?”

He stops eating and watches me so intensely that his hand finds my chin to pull me closer as he analyzes everything on me, maybe the blush creeping up my neck, or the way my brows furrow like I’m gonna jump on him and strangle him because how dare he pretend to know me when I don’t even know myself?

“Mhhh, depends. It might be that red on your cheeks when you’re getting all shy that I’m too close to you, or the soft yellow in your eyes. It’s melting perfectly with the green and blue in them. It might be one of those.”

I smile and tug his shirt closer, so close that our noses are touching. “You need to stop bullshitting me with your lines. I don’t do flirt .”

He smiles back. “Is that so? Cause if I move my face an inch forward, we’d kiss.”

And then I realize how bad of an idea it was to pull him this close to me.

I leave his shirt, and he laughs, turning back into his place.

I put my feet on the bench and lay back down.

My knees are pulled up toward my chest, and Damir’s hoodie is big enough to cover my whole body when I stretch it over my pulled-up legs.

He looks at me after throwing our bags of food and puts his hand around my waist before pulling me back to him, his arm behind my head, fingers finding a way to touch my neck, forcing their way under the hood.

“You’ve been training in the morning.”

It’s not a question.

I swallow, glancing at him. “You’ve been watching me?”

He doesn’t deny it. Just takes another look down at me. “Always.”

Blue. His eyes are so blue.

“You used to train at night,” he says eventually, his gaze flicking to the sky. “Before your injury.”

I roll my eyes, making my head more comfortable on his arm. “Yeah, well. I didn’t want to mess up my stitches. And I’m still stronger than you even with that, no need to train too much.”

His mouth twitches. “That so?”

“Yeah.”

He looks dangerously hot right now. Really hot.

“That’s good,” he says before his hand pulls down my hood and stays on the back of my neck.

It’s calm. It’s comfortable. We breathe slowly, take in the loneliness around us, the height, the dark, the stars. It’s silent. But the comfortable kind of silence. It’s weird how easy it is with him, how natural it feels, despite everything that should make it unbearable.

Why is he doing this? Being careful with me, but cold in his own way? Like he knows exactly how much to give before pulling away again.

I shift slightly. “Why are you trying so hard to make me appreciate you?”

His fingers flex against my neck, but his expression doesn’t change. He shrugs. “I don’t know yet. Figuring it out.”

That should scare me. The way he says it like it’s inevitable. He looks honest too.

Azra, you’re fucked.

You get attached, and then what? What if he dies on a mission? What if you wake up one day and he’s just gone?

What if, what if, what if ? —

Before I can counter, my phone vibrates against my thigh. I fish it out, glancing at the screen. Vik.

“Who’s that?” Damir asks.

I wave him off, pushing myself away from him as I answer. “Hey.”

“Where are you, Kroshka ?” Vik’s voice is all suspicion, all older-brother energy. “What are you doing?”

I roll my eyes. “Eating.”

Damir exhales, and Vik catches it.

“With who?”

“Alone,” I lied.

Silence .

“You see him outside of work?” Kat’s voice cuts in from the background, clearly snatching Vik’s phone. “You’re with your hot partner when you’re not working? Oh My God!”

I choke on my own saliva, coughing.

Damir leans toward me, brows drawing together, voice lower. “You okay?”

I wave him off, turning slightly away as I clear my throat. “Stop screaming. Just— ” I glare at my phone. “Kat, mind your own business.”

“Oh, this is totally my business.” Her grin is practically audible. “Ice cream, little nocturnal walks? What’s next? Sleepovers? Pregnancy? Say hi to him.”