The hospital room smelled of antiseptic and faint ozone—remnants of Elena's aura still lingering in the air. Dr. Voss had insisted on keeping her under observation for another 48 hours after the sun incident, even though her healing factor had already repaired most of the damage. Burns that would have killed a normal human had faded to faint pink lines across her arms, legs, and torso; her hair, once scorched to brittle strands, now flowed raven-black and lustrous again. But she was weak—drained in a way that went beyond the physical. The sun's core had burned away Magnolia's parasite, but it had also taken something from Elena: a piece of her reserves, a quiet exhaustion that no amount of rest could immediately fix.
I never left her side.
The first night after she regained consciousness, I sat in the chair beside her bed, holding her hand, watching the steady rise and fall of her chest. She woke briefly—eyes fluttering open, finding mine. "Alex..." Her voice was hoarse, cracked from smoke and strain.
"I'm here," I whispered, brushing hair from her forehead. "You're safe. We did it."
She tried to smile—weak, but real. "Magnolia?"
"Gone. You... you took her into the sun. She couldn't survive it."
A single tear slipped down her cheek. "I thought... I might not come back."
"You did," I said, kissing her knuckles. "You always do."
She drifted off again. I stayed awake—watching monitors beep, listening to her breathing, replaying the moment she'd emerged from the sun like a goddess reborn. I'd almost lost her. Again. The thought was a knife in my chest.
The next morning, Dr. Voss cleared her for discharge. "Her power is regenerating at an accelerated rate," he said, adjusting his glasses. "But she needs rest—no missions, no training. At least a week. Maybe two."
Elena laughed weakly from the bed. "Tell that to the next asteroid."
Voss smiled. "I'll let Loverman handle that."
I helped her dress—gentle, careful. Her suit was ruined, so she wore loose sweats and one of my hoodies—oversized on her, making her look smaller, more vulnerable. She leaned on me as we walked out—paparazzi waiting outside the secure exit, flashes blinding. I shielded her with my body, violet aura flaring just enough to blur the cameras.
"Thick Chick! Loverman! How does it feel to be heroes again?"
We ignored them—flying home low and slow, Elena in my arms. The house felt like sanctuary—our sanctuary. I carried her upstairs, laid her in bed. "Rest," I said. "I'll take care of everything."
She caught my hand. "Stay with me. Just... stay."
I did.
For the next few days, I was her shadow. I made breakfast—eggs, toast, coffee—bringing it to her on a tray. She ate slowly, leaning against pillows, watching me with soft eyes. "You're good at this," she teased. "Domestic hero."
"Only for you," I replied, kissing her forehead.
I changed her bandages—though they were mostly unnecessary—her skin knitting together faster than any human's. I massaged her shoulders, her back—gentle hands tracing the fading scars. "Does it hurt?" I'd ask.
"Not anymore," she'd whisper. "Not with you here."
We talked for hours—about the void, the sun, Magnolia's tragic story. "She was a victim too," Elena said one night, head on my chest. "But she chose destruction. I almost did the same—flying into that star. I didn't think I'd come back."
I held her tighter. "You did. And you saved everything."
She looked up at me—eyes shining. "We saved everything. Together."
Mum and Dad came for dinner a few days later. Mum insisted on cooking—her famous lasagna, the house filling with garlic and tomato. Dad carried the wine. They arrived nervous—still processing the truth of our lives—but determined.
Elena greeted them at the door—dressed in soft sweats and one of my shirts, hair loose. She looked tired but radiant. Mum hugged her first—tight, motherly. "Elena... thank you. For everything. For saving our boy. For saving the world."
Elena hugged back—surprised but warm. "I didn't do it alone."
Dad shook her hand—awkward at first—then pulled her into a hug. "We were wrong about you. About the age thing. We judged before we knew. We're sorry."
Elena smiled—genuine. "I understand. I worried too. But Alex... he's my home."
We sat—lasagna served, wine poured. Conversation flowed easier than expected. Mum asked about Elena's family ("Just me now—parents gone years ago"). Dad asked about her work ("Graphic design keeps me sane between... other things"). They laughed at old stories—my childhood mishaps, Elena's gardening disasters.
At the end, Mum took Elena's hand. "You're family now. Whatever happens."
Dad nodded. "And the house... it's yours. We're moving—new city, fresh start. But we'll be back. Often."
Elena teared up. "Thank you. Both of you."
They left—hugs, promises of visits. The house felt quieter, but warmer.
The next day—Elena made a full recovery. Scars gone, energy restored. She stretched in the garden—purple aura flaring bright. "I feel... good," she said, smiling at me.
We received medals again—private ceremony this time, no crowds, just leaders and gratitude. "Earth owes you everything," the President said, pinning the gold star to my chest. Elena's matched—her eyes shining.
Later that day, we went home—normal clothes, no masks. Dinner out—quiet restaurant, wine, laughter. Then cinema—holding hands, her head on my shoulder, feeling normal for a change.
Back home, passion ignited.
We barely made it through the door—kissing hungrily, clothes shedding. I lifted her—legs wrapping me—thrusting against the wall. "God, Elena... missed this so much."
She moaned—pussy wet, clenching. "Yes... fuck me... hard... like in the sky."
We moved to bed—her riding, breasts bouncing, "Yes... deeper... I love you." I flipped her—pounding from behind, spanking her ass lightly, "So tight... cum for me." Orgasms crashed—sparks flying, bodies shuddering.
We'd cleared our names, regained faith.
Inseparable again.