After a warm bath, I sit curled on the couch, the lingering steam still clinging to my skin like a mory of warmth.
Deniz stands before , gently rubbing my silver hair with a soft towel. His movents are slow and careful, deliberate in a way that makes feel cherished.
Each pass of the fabric against my scalp sends small shivers down my spine, grounding in the present mont.
The warmth of the water has seeped into my bones, loosening the knots I’ve been carrying all night.
My heart feels lighter now, calr.
The apartnt is quiet around us, filled only with the soft sound of the towel moving through my hair.
But Moon’s voice still echoes in my mind, unwanted and persistent.
Break up. Break up. Break up.
I’ll wait for you.
The words circle like vultures, refusing to leave.
My fists clench against the cushion beneath , fingers digging into the soft fabric.
Neon, just forget about it. Why are you still thinking about that nonsense?
It’s never going to happen. Deniz and I are solid. We’re forever. That stupid promise ans nothing.
"Zyren."
Deniz’s voice cuts through the spiral, soft and warm like honey. I blink, pushing the thoughts away, and look up at him.
A soft smile plays on his lips—genuine, patient, entirely his. The kind of smile that makes forget, for a mont, that the rest of the world exists.
"What are you thinking about?"
I return the smile, matching his warmth as best I can.
"Nothing."
His hand continues its slow work, drying my silver hair with infinite tenderness. He doesn’t push, doesn’t ask more.
He just... takes care of .
"Did you like your surprise?" he asks.
I freeze.
My face shifts into genuine confusion, brow furrowing.
Surprise? What surprise? Where? Which one?
I look around the apartnt as if a wrapped gift might materialize from the shadows.
"Where’s the surprise?"
His smile fades just a little—a flicker of sothing quickly masked, replaced by warmth. He leans down and squeezes my cheek gently, his eyes crinkling at the corners.
"Where are you lost?" he teases, but there’s a question underneath.
Concern, maybe. Or curiosity.
I bite my lower lip, guilt flickering through .
"I’m sorry. I just..."
He studies for a mont, those dark eyes seeing more than I probably want them to. Then he straightens and holds out his hand.
"Stand up."
I obey without hesitation, placing my hand in his. He pulls gently to my feet and leads across the living room, toward the long mirror standing in the corner.
We stop in front of it, and his arm slides around my waist, pulling gently against his side.
His warmth seeps through the thin fabric of my nightshirt.
"See?" he murmurs.
I stare at our reflection.
My silver hair is still damp, curling slightly at the ends, darker than usual from the water. His dark hair is ssy, falling across his forehead in soft waves that make him look younger, softer.
His dark eyes et mine in the glass, soft and warm and full of sothing that makes my chest ache with its intensity.
We stand there in comfortable silence for a long mont, just looking at ourselves, at us.
Then I notice.
The night suits we’re wearing—they match. They’re clearly a couple’s set, designed to complent each other.
One shirt is dark, the other light, but the pattern flows between them. And on the fabric, two small hearts are embroidered, nestled together.
Beneath them, our nas written in delicate script.
Zyren.
Deniz.
I was so lost in my thoughts earlier that I didn’t even notice when I put it on.
A soft smile spreads across my lips, genuine and warm, reaching my eyes for the first ti tonight. I turn to look at him directly.
"They’re so cute."
My voice is soft, full of wonder.
"I love them." A pause, guilt flickering again.
"I’m sorry I didn’t notice earlier. I was so—"
He leans in and kisses my cheek, soft and quick, cutting off my apology.
"It’s okay. I know you’re tired. I know tonight was hard."
I turn back to the mirror, looking at both of us again. At how we fit together. At how right this feels.
His arm around my waist, my body leaning into his, the matching shirts a small declaration to the world.
Then I freeze.
"What?" Deniz asks, noticing the shift in my expression.
I point at the mirror. At my reflection.
"Why did you choose pink for again?"
My cheeks flush slightly, a warm pink that probably matches the shirt perfectly.
He laughs quietly, the sound light and warm, filling the quiet apartnt.
"It suits you."
I pout dramatically, turning to face him fully. My arms cross over my chest, though the effect is probably ruined by the soft, fuzzy fabric.
"Other colors suit too. If you actually tried sothing different for once."
I poke his chest gently.
"You always give pink. Always."
His voice drops, low and intimate. He pulls closer with the arm still around my waist, eliminating the last space between us.
"You know," he whispers, his lips brushing my ear, sending a shiver down my spine, "when you wear this color, you look so sexy."
A pause.
"I can’t control myself."
My breath catches.
"I love seeing you in it," he continues, his voice a low rumble that I feel in my chest.
"My bunny." Another pause, deliberate, teasing.
"My pink bunny."
My cheeks ignite, burning red. I look away, suddenly shy, unable to et his eyes.
The reflection in the mirror shows a stranger—soone soft and flustered and completely undone by this man.
Then, without warning, he lifts into his arms again.
I don’t protest. I don’t pretend I want to walk. I just rest my head against his chest, listening to his heartbeat—steady, strong, mine—as he carries toward the bedroom.
The door closes softly behind us, shutting out the rest of the world.
User Comments
0 comments from readers