She hugged me.

It wasn’t planned. One second we were stripping off cracked armor and grit, the next she stepped in—arms sliding around my shoulders like it was as natural as breathing. Quick, ordinary, meant for comfort. Something you give a teammate when you’re glad they made it back in one piece.

But nothing about it felt ordinary to me.

My body froze. Heart hammered. I’d spent the past hour punching stone golems in the throat, yet the soft press of her chest against mine almost knocked me flat. I’m used to weight—rocks, rubble, the world—but warmth like that? I’d forgotten how it lands.

For half a heartbeat I stood there, useless, letting her do all the holding. Then the dam inside me cracked. My arms came up, wrapped around her, yanked her in like I’d been waiting a lifetime. Fingers dug into the fabric of her hoodie; nose pressed into her hair.

The heat of her against me was sharp and raw—like fire licking cold stone. I could feel the steady rise and fall of her chest beneath my chin, the soft hum of her breath brushing my skin. It was grounding and dangerous all at once. My muscles tensed, craving more contact, yet terrified of what that meant. Every nerve screamed, “Don’t push her away,” but my pride whispered, “Don’t get soft.”

I wanted to memorize this feeling—the way her weight shifted slightly against me, the way her scent filled my senses and blocked out everything else. I wanted to stay like this, locked tight in the quiet, safe pocket we’d carved out in the middle of chaos. I couldn’t let go.

She stayed perfectly still. No stiffening, no jokes, no asking if I’d lost my mind. Just let me cling. The hallway was silent except for our breathing and the distant drip of a busted pipe—steady, rhythmic, grounding.

I didn’t know I was shaking until her palm slid up my back in slow, soothing circles. Heat climbed my throat, settled behind my eyes. God, how long had it been since someone touched me without expecting me to hold everything together?

When she finally shifted, her arms loosening ever so slightly, panic stabbed through my ribs. I tightened my grip, rougher than I meant to, and heard the rust in my own voice—raucous, half-broken, far too honest as the words tumbled out:

“Just—fuck—give me another second.”