I sat on the cushioned bench along the balcony wall, cradling a cup of tea between my hands. The steam rose in soft curls, mingling with the early morning air.
Nine sat beside me, legs curled under him, a blanket thrown haphazardly over his shoulders and one end now draped around mine too—because he'd pulled it that way without asking.
Not that I'd ever stop him.
He didn't say much at first. He just sipped slowly from his own cup and leaned into my side like he always did when he was sleepy but stubborn about staying awake. His head eventually found its way to my shoulder. Then lower. Until his cheek was pressed just over my collarbone, warm and close.
I turned slightly and rested my chin against his hair.
Nyx purred. He's getting bolder.
Good, I answered, sipping my tea with one hand and stroking my fingers through his hair with the other. He deserves to be.
It had been a long few days. Long weeks. Long everything. But I hadn't told him yet how proud I was. Not properly.
So I said it now.
"You were amazing, you know. At the meeting."
His fingers, which had been holding his cup, paused. Then he slowly turned his face upward to look at me—eyes soft and unsure. "...Really?"
"Yes." I reached over and cupped his cheek. "You held your own. You didn't hide behind me. You didn't flinch when they raised their voices. You spoke, Nine. You stood your ground."
He blinked. "I was scared."
"I know." I smiled gently. "You still did it."
He looked down at his lap. Then, through the bond, I felt it—something flickering warm and tight, like a spark trying to become a flame. I wanted you to be proud of me.
"You didn't need to earn that," I murmured. "You have it. Always."
He leaned into my hand then, eyes fluttering shut. "But… I still wanted it."
My throat ached. I set my tea aside, both hands free now to hold him properly.
"Listen to me, Nine," I said softly. "You don't have to prove anything to me. You don't have to be strong all the time. You don't have to be anything except you."
He didn't answer with words. Just pulled his legs up to the bench, turned a little more into my arms, and curled against me until his entire body was tucked against my side. I wrapped the blanket more securely around us and let him rest there.
After a few minutes, his voice came—quiet, slow, like a thought spoken aloud without meaning to.
"I thought if I messed up, you'd be disappointed."
My breath hitched. "Never."
"But I used to mess up and get punished." His voice didn't hold much fear—just matter-of-fact. "I didn't want to bring that back."
"Oh, Nine…" My arms tightened around him. "You're safe now. With me. Forever."
He nodded, slow and small. Then, without lifting his head, his fingers reached out to toy with the edge of my shirt. I felt him press a light kiss to my shoulder—gentle, reverent.
Love you, his voice said through the bond, content and warm and almost sleepy.
Love you too, I whispered back.
We stayed like that for a while—tea forgotten, wrapped up in each other and the soft wind that rustled through the balcony's hanging plants.
Nyx was quiet, watching him the whole time with something close to awe.
He's healing, she said.
He is.
And so was I.