Ray's POV
He looked like a war god.
Bruised. Bandaged. Barely upright.
And he was smirking.
"Why are you smiling?" I grumbled, dragging him by his good arm toward the bed. "You're injured. Bleeding. And you still think you're charming?"
"Because you're dragging me around like I'm your oversized teddy bear," he said, voice low and teasing, "and you're cute when you're mad."
"Sebastian."
Warning tone.
His feet shuffled obediently, like some overgrown child.
When we reached the bed, he slumped down with a dramatic groan and still managed to look good doing it. I grabbed the corner of the blanket and tugged it over him, muttering like a crazy person.
"Almost bled out, walked in looking like a horror film, gave me a heart attack, and now you're flirting? You need serious help. Like, brain check, CT scan—therapy."
"Do you offer therapy?" he murmured, his voice all rough silk and mischief. "Because I think I'd open up just fine if you sat on my lap and—"
I threw a pillow at his face.
He caught it with his good arm, grinning.
"Okay, fine," he said, more softly now. "No flirting. Just… stay."
I froze.
My fingers were still on the blanket.
The room was dim, except for the little nightlight I'd plugged in weeks ago when the nightmares were still bad.
But right now, this wasn't about me.
It was about him.
About the man who walked through hell and came back to me.
"I'm not going anywhere," I whispered, climbing up gently beside him. "Not until you've slept, eaten, healed, and probably had three full lectures on safety protocols from me."
He closed his eyes, the lines on his face softening.
"Good," he murmured. "Because when I woke up after being stitched up by a girl with Hello Kitty bandages… I think I fell in love with her all over again."
My heart?
Dead.
Melted.
Gone.
I sat beside him, pulling the blanket up to his chin like he was a toddler, brushing his hair back once—just once—before whispering, "Sleep, Seb."
And for the first time that night…
He did.