EMBER’S POV
I lean forward and press my lips to his wet cheek. Then the other. Then the corner of his mouth where the salt gathers.
Kissing the tears off him one by one, slow and sweet, the way he kissed the bruises off my wrists in the bath.
He closes his eyes and lets me, his hands finding my waist, and the sound of his breathing filling the quiet kitchen is the most honest sound I’ve ever heard him make.
“We’re a mess,” he murmurs against my mouth.
“An absolute disaster.”
“Catastrophic.”
“Legendary, even.”
His laugh is wet and short and real.
“At least we’re consistent.”
I pull back and look at him and his face is open in a way I’ve never seen it — tear-streaked and bruised and smiling slightly and completely, entirely mine.
And I know that if I don’t say the next thing now,
