He hated fighting with her. More than anything, he hated the way her voice had cracked when she'd told him to leave, like she didnβt really want him to go but couldnβt stand another second of the argument. Jason dropped his helmet by the door with a soft thud, running a hand through his already-messy hair. His jacket slid off his shoulders, forgotten on the floor as he moved toward the living room.
And thenβthere she was.
Curled up on the couch in one of his old shirts, legs pulled close to her chest. The TV was on but muted, the flickering light casting soft shadows across her face. She looked up when she saw him, eyes puffy, but still so goddamn beautiful it made his heart twist.
He didnβt say a word. Just crossed the room in three quick strides and dropped to his knees in front of her.
βIβm sorry,β he said, voice rough.
He leaned in slowly, like giving her the chance to pull away but she didnβt. And when his mouth met hers, it was desperate. Apologetic. Hungry with all the words he hadnβt said earlier.
He kissed her like a man who knew he'd almost lost everything.
When he pulled back, just enough to speak, his forehead rested against hers, breath mingling in the inch of space between them.
βIβll give you the world,β he whispered against her mouth. βThe moon. The fucking stars. Anything you ask, itβs yours. Iβm yours.β