A Love

A Love
Anastasia’s POV

The rain had come without warning.

I pressed my forehead against the glass window, tracing the trail of a drop as it slipped downward like a quiet tear. Outside, the world was grey and dripping, soaked in a calm that felt like it belonged to someone else. Leomord’s jacket hung by the door, his boots still damp from his early walk. The room was still, except for the soft hum of music playing from the corner speaker, a love song old enough to sound new.

I wrapped the blanket tighter around my shoulders and leaned back against the couch, knees folded, warmth pressed between my palms. My tea had gone cold, but I didn’t care. My mind was tangled, not in fear, not in doubt, just in the strange quiet that follows too many storms. Peace had always felt like a borrowed thing.

“Thinking too loud again,” Leomord said gently, stepping into the room.

I looked up, startled. He wore that tired smile he reserved only for me, the one that told me he’d been watching for a while before saying anything.

“I’m just__ letting my head breathe,” I murmured.

He sat beside me, close enough that his shoulder brushed mine, and for a moment, we said nothing. His hand found mine, calloused and warm. I wondered if he noticed how my fingers had grown colder lately, not from the weather, but from the constant holding-on.

“You still don’t feel safe?” he asked, not accusingly. Just wondering.

I hesitated. “I think I just don’t trust quiet.”

Leomord’s eyes stayed on me. “Then let’s fill it.”

I blinked. “With what?”

He tilted his head. “Let’s paint.”

I stared. “You want to paint?”

He shrugged. “We said we’d try something new. You liked it last time. Maybe we’ll argue over colors again.”

A soft laugh escaped me before I could stop it. “Only if you promise not to paint wolves in every corner like last time.”

He smiled. “No promises.”

We got up together, dragging out the half-used canvas and the set of old paints Maria had found for us. The table by the window became our new world. Raindrops tapped the panes like applause, and the scent of acrylics filled the air. I dipped my brush in blue, he in red, and just like that, silence began to feel less heavy.

“You still carry it,” I said, painting a shaky line.

Leomord looked over. “What?”

“The past. Them. The weight of everything we ran from.”

He didn’t deny it. “And you?”

I paused. “I carry you.”

He stopped painting. “That’s not a burden.”

“No,” I whispered. “It’s not.”

We stood like that for a while, hands covered in color, hearts a little raw, but quietly open.

And somewhere between the layers of paint and raindrops, I started to believe in quiet again.

The quiet between us is heavier than the argument we just had. Leomord leans against the wall, arms crossed, his eyes avoiding mine. Outside, the wind rattles the shutters, and somewhere far off, a dog barks, a sound that feels too lonely for a night like this.

“I didn’t mean to make it sound like I don’t trust you,” I say, softer than before. “But when you keep things from me, it feels like you’re putting a wall between us.”

His jaw flexes, but his gaze finally meets mine. There’s no anger there now, only exhaustion and something like regret. “I’m not hiding to hurt you. I’m trying to keep you safe.”

“I’m not made of glass,” I murmur, stepping closer. “I want to stand with you, even if it’s dangerous.”

For a moment, the distance stays. Then he exhales sharply, as if releasing a tension he’s carried for years. “You think I don’t want that? You think I don’t wake up every day wanting to tell you everything?” His voice cracks slightly, betraying the weight behind it.

I touch his hand, and the heat of his skin is almost startling after the cold air in the room. His fingers curl around mine, not fully, but enough for me to feel his hesitation melting.

The suspense between us shifts, not gone, but quieter. I can sense him making a choice. He pulls me toward him until my forehead rests against his chest. I feel the slow, uneven thump of his heart.

“We’re leaving sooner than planned,” he whispers into my hair. “There’s someone in this town asking questions about me. I don’t know who they are yet, but I don’t want to wait until they find us.”

The words settle like frost in my veins. The quarrel fades into something sharper, fear. Still, I hold him tighter. “Then we face it together. No more half-truths.”

His breath brushes my ear, warm and unsteady. “Together.”

I tilt my head up, and before either of us can speak again, his lips find mine, not desperate, but deliberate, like he’s sealing the promise with something stronger than words. The kiss carries the tension, the fear, the fragile hope that maybe we can outrun both the danger and the ghosts in his past.

When we break apart, his forehead stays against mine, and for the first time tonight, I feel like we’re standing on the same side of the storm.

The night had a strange stillness, as if the air itself was holding its breath. I sat on the porch steps, knees drawn to my chest, my gaze locked on the faint silver glow spilling from the moon. Leomord hadn’t come back yet, and each minute stretched like a rope pulling tighter around my chest.

When I finally heard footsteps crunching the gravel, I wanted to run to him. But I stayed frozen, the questions I’d been swallowing all day suddenly pressing against my lips. He looked tired—like the shadows had followed him home.

“You’re late,” I murmured, not sure whether I meant it as a question or an accusation.

“I know,” he replied, lowering himself beside me. His voice was steady, but his eyes flickered, restless. “I had to make sure no one was following me.”

That one sentence cracked the fragile calm between us. My heart skipped, my hands tightened. “You promised me we were safe,” I said, my tone sharper than I intended. “Was that a lie?”

He sighed, pressing his palms together. “It’s not that simple.”

“Then make it simple,” I shot back. “Either we’re safe, or we’re not.”

Silence wrapped around us, heavier than the darkness. Finally, he reached for my hand, his grip warm but urgent. “I will protect you, even if it means leaving again. But you have to trust me.”

I searched his face, torn between fear and the quiet ache of wanting to believe him. The night breeze carried the faint scent of rain, and in that fragile moment, I realized trust wasn’t something he could demand, it was something we’d have to rebuild, one choice at a time.

And yet, when he pulled me into his arms, I didn’t pull away. Not tonight.

And I won't ever. This is how our story will go on.