A Feeling

A Feeling
ILater, we lie in bed. No words, just the soft hum of wind brushing the window. I curl into his chest, my fingers lightly tracing the scar on his arm.

“I used to think starting over meant pretending nothing happened,” I whisper.

“And now?”

“Now I think starting over means carrying the past with gentler hands. Not letting it win.”

Leomord presses a kiss to my forehead. “Then we’re doing it right.”

A tear slides down my cheek, but this one isn’t from sadness. It’s from something quieter—like release.

“I love you,” I whisper.

His arms tighten around me. “I love you more than I ever thought I could love anything.”

We fall asleep like that, wrapped in the quiet strength of two broken people learning how to be whole again.

And in this moment, I believe we’ll make it.

~

The house is finally quiet.

No fear. No whispers behind doors. No blood. No bruises. Just silence—and this time, it doesn’t feel heavy. It feels warm. Like a blanket after the storm.

We’ve escaped.

I still can’t believe it.

After everything, the threats, the fear, the night I almost lost him, we’re safe. In a new town. Far from the past. A little rented house with peeling walls and a tiny garden, but it’s enough. We’re enough.

Leomord is in the kitchen, sleeves rolled up, trying to figure out the old stove. I can see the furrow in his brow from across the room. He hasn’t changed much—still quiet, still serious, still watching me like I’m something fragile he wants to protect.

But lately, his smile is softer. More real.

“Dinner’s almost ready,” he calls, flipping something in the pan.

I smile. “You’re burning it.”

“No, I’m not.”

“Yes, you are.”

He turns around with a smirk. “I like it a little burnt.”

I walk over and steal a piece from the pan before he can stop me. “Liar.”

He tries to grab my hand but I dodge him, laughing, and for the first time in what feels like months, we laugh together.

After dinner, we walk down the quiet street hand in hand. The sky is that perfect shade of blue-orange, with the sun melting behind the trees. I feel like I can finally breathe again.

We reach the park and sit on a worn wooden bench, watching a group of kids chase each other in circles. A breeze ruffles Leomord’s hair, and he turns to look at me like he’s memorizing my face.

“You’re quiet,” he says gently.

I shrug. “Just thinking.”

“About?”

“How far we’ve come.”

He doesn’t answer right away. His fingers brush against mine, slow and thoughtful. “I thought I’d lose you.”

“You didn’t.”

He nods, but his jaw clenches slightly, like the thought still haunts him. “There were nights I thought you’d wake up and realize I wasn’t worth all this.”

I rest my head on his shoulder. “You’re wrong.”

He’s quiet again.

I speak softer. “I chose you, Leomord. Even after everything. I’d still choose you.”

His arm wraps around me, pulling me closer. The park, the noise, the world—all of it fades for a moment.

“I don’t deserve you,” he murmurs into my hair.

“You don’t have to deserve me,” I whisper. “You just have to stay.”

He nods slowly, like it’s a promise.

By the time we get back from the park, the sky is dark.

The living room smells faintly of leftover dinner and Leomord’s cologne. I light a candle in the corner, it’s silly, unnecessary, but I like the soft flicker. It feels gentler than the ceiling light. He closes the door behind us, locking it out of habit. He always double-checks now. Even though we’ve moved far away. Even though no one followed us.

I sit on the floor, pulling my knees to my chest as I watch the shadows dance across the walls. Leomord joins me, stretching his long legs beside mine. But something in his body feels tense again. Guarded.

I notice it instantly.

“You okay?” I ask.

“Yeah,” he says too quickly.

I look at him. “Don’t do that.”

He frowns. “Do what?”

“Shut down.”

He doesn’t answer right away. His jaw shifts, and he exhales slowly. “I’m just thinking.”

I wait, but he doesn’t say more.

“About what?” I press gently.

He shakes his head. “You wouldn’t get it.”

The words sting more than I expect. I rise to my feet slowly. “Why do you always do that?”

“Do what?”

“Push me out like I’m just some girl you have to protect, not someone who’s already bled for you.”

His eyes snap to mine. “That’s not fair.”

“No,” I say, arms folded. “What’s not fair is being left in the dark. Again.”

His voice lowers. “I’m trying. I’m doing my best.”

“I’m not asking for perfect,” I whisper. “Just honesty.”

He stands now too. “What do you want me to say? That I’m scared every time someone walks past our gate? That I check my phone twenty times a night just in case someone from the past decides to come for us again?”

“Yes,” I say softly. “I want to hear that. I want to know I’m not the only one who still feels that fear.”

We stare at each other. Two people with matching wounds, different scars.

He breaks first. His hand reaches for mine. “I’m sorry.”

“I don’t want your apology,” I say, but I don’t pull away. “I just want you.”

His fingers tighten around mine. “You have me.”

“Then stop hiding from me.”

The silence between us is different now. Not cold. Not sharp. Just full. Like a breath held too long.

“I’ve never had this before,” he says, voice barely above a whisper. “Someone who actually stays. And it terrifies me.”

I soften. “Me too.”

He pulls me close, and I don’t resist. I melt into his arms, my cheek against his chest. His heartbeat is fast.

“I’m sorry I said you wouldn’t get it,” he murmurs.

I nod into him. “And I’m sorry for yelling.”

He chuckles lightly. “You didn’t really yell.”

I glance up at him. “I could, if you want the full version.”

He smirks, brushing a strand of hair from my face. “I’d rather kiss you instead.”

So he does.

Slowly, deeply. Like he’s trying to say every unspoken thing he couldn’t earlier. I kiss him back, hands gripping the back of his shirt like he might disappear if I let go.

And in that moment, I know something for sure.

We’ve escaped the place, but not the past. Not fully.

But we have each other.

And maybe that’s enough to keep going.

Even when we’re afraid.

Even when we fight.

Even when we don’t know what tomorrow holds.

As long as we’re together.

That’s what makes it a new kind of quiet.