A Kiss

A Kiss
The morning starts quieter than usual.

No birdsong. No rustle from the trees. Just the ticking clock above the stove and the soft breath of Leomord, still curled up beneath the blanket on the couch. His shirt is wrinkled. His hair a mess. But even in that unkempt state, there’s something painfully beautiful about him.

I sit at the table, hands wrapped around a half-cold mug of tea. I’ve reheated it twice already.

Something feels off. Like the calm before a storm.

Maria shuffles in from the hallway, still half-asleep. “You’re up early.”

“Didn’t sleep much,” I admit.

She yawns, grabbing an apple. “Want to take a walk later?”

I hesitate. “Maybe.”

She watches me for a moment, then nods and disappears into her room. She doesn’t push. She never does. That’s what I like about her.

I turn back toward Leomord. His eyes are open now, but he doesn’t move.

“You’re pretending again,” I whisper.

He sighs. “Only because I don’t know what else to do.”

“You could talk to me.”

“I did.”

“Not enough.”

His silence is heavier than any argument.

By noon, we’re both dressed, trying to act normal. But everything we do feels rehearsed. He chops vegetables too quickly. I stir the pot without tasting. There’s a stiffness between us, like we’re strangers inside familiar skins.

“Let’s get out of here,” he says suddenly.

I blink. “Where?”

“Anywhere. Just not here.”

He’s not running. I can see that. He just needs space. And maybe I do too.

We end up at the edge of the nearby field, where wildflowers bloom in careless patches and the sun warms the tops of our heads. We lay down a thin blanket, and for a while, neither of us speaks.

He picks a yellow flower and twirls it between his fingers. “Do you think we’ll ever be safe?”

“I don’t know,” I answer truthfully.

He nods. “I keep thinking about leaving again. Not because I want to. But because I might have to.”

I flinch. “You want to disappear?”

“No. I want to survive.”

We’re back in that place again, between fear and love, between truth and silence.

“Then let’s survive together,” I say. “Wherever that takes us.”

His hand finds mine. Rough against soft. But warm.

We lie there for hours. Watching the clouds. Sharing crumbs of conversation. We don’t solve anything. We don’t fix what’s broken. But for once, we rest.

~

The sun starts dipping behind the trees, casting long shadows across the meadow.

Leomord lies beside me, one arm tucked beneath his head, eyes closed. But I know he’s awake. His fingers graze mine every few seconds, as if reminding himself I’m still here. Still real. Still choosing him.

“What are you thinking?” I ask softly.

“That I don’t deserve this,” he murmurs.

“This?”

“You. Peace. A world without blood on my hands.”

I shift closer, laying my head against his chest. His heartbeat is uneven. Nervous. “You paid for the past, Leomord. You bled for it. You’ve earned more than just guilt.”

“But they’re not done. I know them. They don’t forget. And they don’t forgive.”

“And what if we stop running?” I whisper. “What if we fight back this time?”

His arm wraps around me. Tighter than before. Protective. Scared.

“You think I haven’t thought about that?” he says. “Every night I plan it. Escape. Defense. Retaliation. But then I remember the cost. You. Maria. Grandma. I can’t gamble your lives just to feel brave.”

I sit up slowly, brushing strands of hair away from my face. “Then stop pretending you’re doing this alone. We’re in this together now.”

He sits up too. His gaze holds mine like it’s anchoring him.

A breeze brushes over us. It smells like crushed grass and pine. The day is fading fast, and neither of us wants to go home yet.

“Come with me,” he says.

“Where?”

“Somewhere normal.”

A small smile tugs at my lips. “You mean like a date?”

He shrugs, eyes glinting. “Yeah. Why not?”

We find a tiny roadside diner twenty minutes away. It’s old-fashioned—checkered curtains, squeaky chairs, menus stained with coffee rings. But it’s warm. Alive.

We take a booth in the corner. For the first time in days, I see him breathe without tension.

“What will you have?” I ask, flipping the menu.

“Something greasy,” he says, grinning. “I want to feel like a teenager again.”

“You never were one,” I say quietly.

He doesn’t argue.

When the food arrives, fries, burgers, strawberry shakes—he devours it like a man tasting freedom.

I laugh. “You’re going to choke.”

“You’re going to fall in love with me again if I keep eating like this.”

“I never stopped.”

The words escape before I can swallow them.

His hands still. The fork drops.

He lifts his eyes, and I feel the air between us still, charged with something raw. Something honest.

“You still love me?” he asks.

“I do.”

He reaches across the table and takes my hand. “Then I have to tell you something.”

The warmth in my chest flickers. “What is it?”

“I saw him. The boss. A week ago.”

I freeze.

“He came to the forest. Threatened me. Said I still owed him. When I refused, he had me beaten.” His voice tightens. “I didn’t tell you because I didn’t want to drag you into that world.”

“But I’m already in it,” I say. “Not because of what you did. But because of who I love.”

He blinks. Once. Twice. Then exhales a breath that sounds like surrender.

“I’ll never let them touch you, Anastasia.”

“You won’t have to. Because I’ll never stand behind you. I’ll stand with you.”

The silence afterward is louder than anything the boss could ever scream.

We finish the meal. Not in fear. But in something stronger. Resolved.

Later, walking back through the soft darkness, he reaches for my hand again.

I give it without hesitation.

He leans close, lips near my ear. “When this ends, we’ll build a life so quiet, no one will ever hear our names again.”

I smile, tilting my head up toward him. “I’d still whisper yours every night.”

And under a sky painted with stars, he kisses me.

Not like someone who’s running.

But like someone who’s finally found home.