The next morning came far too quickly.

You stirred first, your body aching with the weight of last night—both in mind and in heart. For a moment, you almost convinced yourself it had been a dream, that Jiyan wasn’t really here, that you hadn’t broken down in his arms, kissed him like you were drowning, and pulled him back into your world with desperate hands.

But then you turned, and there he was.

Jiyan sat at the edge of the bed, already half-dressed, fastening the straps of his armor with practiced efficiency. The morning sun spilled through the window, cutting across his features, and for a moment, he didn’t look like the soldier who belonged to the battlefield—he looked like a man who had stayed up all night debating with himself.

When he realized you were awake, he stopped. His hand hovered over the next strap, his eyes finding yours.

“…Good morning,” he said softly. His voice was steady, but his eyes betrayed him—they searched yours carefully, as though bracing for rejection.

You swallowed. The air between you was heavy, but not suffocating like last night. Different. Quieter.

“I didn’t mean for things to… happen like that,” he admitted, finally turning his body toward you. He reached up, brushing his thumb against his jaw, a nervous tic you’d forgotten he had. “I only wanted to see you, to know you were safe. But when you—” His words faltered. “…When you kissed me, I couldn’t stop myself.”

You sat up slowly, wrapping the blanket around yourself, unsure if it was shame or comfort you were hiding under. “And now?”

Jiyan’s shoulders lifted with a deep breath, and he stood, crossing to you. His hand brushed against yours, tentative, almost shy—so unlike the battlefield commander. “Now,” he said, crouching so his eyes were level with yours, “I’m not leaving you wondering. I don’t care how many years or battles it takes. I want to rebuild this with you. Not as a soldier. Not as someone passing through. But as your partner.”

His hand tightened around yours. “If you’ll let me.”

There was no grand speech, no plea for forgiveness. Just Jiyan, grounded, steady, waiting for you to decide if he was worth letting back in.

And maybe—just maybe—this quiet morning was more terrifying than the long night before. Because it was real.