Nights blurred into one another, threaded with soft laughter and silences.
Since that night—since that kiss that left the air charged, humming, the electric scent lingering—Rhett had kept things simple. Simple, reverent. That kiss lingered between them, not just on their lips but deep inside, like a mark pressed gently onto their souls.
Now, they are almost always together.
Some mornings, he walks her to college.
Other days, he lifts her onto the back of his adventure tourer bike—the wind teasing her hair, her hands clasped tight around him, the silence of space between them alive with heat and comfort.
Every dawn, he waits at the gate like a loyal shadow. He memorizes the way sunlight weaves gold into her hair, the curve of her hand waving back at him. He tucks the image away like a sacred keepsake, terrified of the day she might stop looking back.
But he doesn't dare name that fear aloud
He won't taint the present with the ache of imagined loss.
He has every meal at her place now. He calls her hands magical. Says no other food tastes right.
Neva still changes his bandages, even though the stitches were removed days ago. He says he trusts no one else.
She doesn't argue. The intimacy between them grows slowly, quietly—like ivy climbing a wall in spring.
Even her solitary rituals—reading, music, baking—has begun to make space for him. He slips into her quiet without disturbing it, content to simply exist in her orbit.
Sometimes, he catches her humming—voice soft, entrancing. And he wonders, with a smile too fragile for the world:
Will she ever sing him to sleep?
He's wrapped in her, in a way that feels terrifying and holy.
And still, deep down, Rhett worries he might love her more than she loves him.
That maybe… it's only him who would fall apart if she left.
---
"No, I'm not going." Neva's voice rings out as she steps into noon sunlight on the balcony, the empty laundry basket in hand.
"It's cold outside. And I've got a soccer match this evening," she adds, slicing through Rhett's hopeful idea of a beach trip.
"Where?" he asks, eyes narrowing.
"Campus," she replies, gathering sun-warmed clothes into the basket.
"Oh, like it's any warmer there?" Rhett huffs, trailing behind her.
"Come on, Angel. Sunset on that beach is spectacular."
Neva straightens, her brows arched, hands on her hips.
"This time of year? On your bike? You want me to freeze to death don't you?" she deadpans.
Rhett clutches his heart dramatically. "How could I let you get sick? I'll get a car if you want! Or get one of those bubble jackets for the both of us!"
Neva sighs and shakes her head with a small smile. "I promised Emma. We planned it ages ago."
He narrows his eyes, mock-suspicious.
"You just want to ogle the athletes. Don't you?"
"What goes on in that tiny head of yours?" she laughs, rolling her eyes.
"I'm right, aren't I?" He crosses his arms and pouts.
"Fine. Go drool over muscle-bound strangers. I'll be over here. Crying. Starving. Sunsetless."
She giggles to herself. This ridiculous man.
How could anyone this big and tall be this soft?
"Fine, Mr. Babyboy," she says, smile teasing. "I'll go watch the sunset with you. On your bike."
His face lights up immediately—a dawn breaking through fog.
"But," Neva adds, lifting a finger.
"After an hour of the match. That's my condition."
"Deal!" Rhett says quickly, already winning in his mind.
---
That evening, he arrives in a black t-shirt, blue jeans, and his worn leather jacket.
Neva, in a black blouse, green plaid skirt and sheer black stockings beneath her own leather jacket.
Both effortless. Just themselves—and that is enough.
Emma waits at campus. Neva links arms with her, dragging Rhett along in her wake.
The match begins under a roar of lights and louder cheers.
Neva comes alive—eyes shining, cheeks flushed, voice rising with every pass, every strike.
Rhett sits beside her, soda can in hand, jaw tight. He watches the way the stadium lights adores her, the way joy lights her from within.
And he feels small. Like an afterthought.
Every cheer tightens something in his chest.
Finally, he crushes the can in his fist and nudges her shoulder.
"What?" she asks, buzzing with excitement.
"It's almost time, Angel. You promised an hour."
She glances at the scoreboard. "Already?"
Hesitation flickers across her face.
His heart sinks, low and heavy.
"…It's fine," he says quietly. "We'll go another day."
Her face gleams with relief. "Really?"
He nods, forcing a chuckle.
"Enjoy yourself."
She turns back to the game, her cheers resuming, bright and unbroken. And Rhett tells himself he's okay.
Fine with being less than what she reaches for.
Fine with wanting more than he should.
---
He's halfway through strapping on his helmet when her voice stops him.
"Are you ditching me?"
He turns. She walks toward the bike, dusk light painting her in molten gold.
"Helmet," she orders, hand out.
He blinks, then slowly passes it over.
She slips it on, tightens the strap, and swings onto the seat behind him like she's always belonged there.
He exhales. Reaches back. Draws her arms gently around his waist.
And then they fly away—wheels spinning, twilight swallowing the road.
---
The beach is near-empty, claimed only by the sea and sky.
There remains the whooshing sound of waves crashing the shoreline—merged with the distant chirps of birds flying across the twilight sky.
Waves shimmers, reflecting streaks of lavender, rose, and pale gold. The air smells of salt and something endless.
They walk in silence, their steps softened by the moist sand, until Neva stops near the water.
She breathes deeply, eyes on the horizon. Wind plays with her hair, sunlight brushing along her cheekbones. She looks like a part of the landscape—serene, untouchable.
And Rhett cannot take his eyes off her.
His chest bloom and ache all at once.
He has never felt it before—this terrifying, holy sense of home.
He steps closer.
His hand brushes hers, then closes around it. Fingers laces, fitting perfectly.
She startles, just for a breath, then leans into him.
That small surrender undos him.
"Neva…" His voice breaks with softness, her name an exhale.
She tilts her head. "Hmm?"
Her gaze drifts from the sea to him, curious.
He laughs under his breath, almost shy.
She frowns lightly.
"What? Is there something on my face?"
Her hand twitches upward, but he catches it midair—holds it, warm and steady. And then lifts it to his lips. A kiss. Then another. Slow. Reverent.
Her breath hitches. Color rushes into her cheeks.
"It's nothing," he murmurs.
"It's just… I've never felt this lucky." His thumb traces her knuckles, tender, trembling.
"And I'm falling harder than ever."
For a moment, only the ocean answers.
Then her fingers tightens around his—slight, but certain.
And for Rhett, that is enough.
Enough to believe, enough to hope. Enough to carry him through every fear.