"No masters or kings when the ritual begins
There is no sweeter innocence than our gentle sin
In the madness and soil of that sad earthly scene
Only then I am human, only then I am clean"

- Hozier, "Take Me to Church"

Chapter Forty-Eight

There was urgency.

There was desire.

There was need.

His warm breath curled in the crook of my neck; fingertips traced letters of love to seal with a kiss. His chest heaved and caved beneath my own, heart pounding beneath his skin. His lips were desperate to show how much I was loved, his hands were gentle as they pressed me closer.

I finally counted his freckles and lashes. I added the freckles across his back, his shoulders, the faint one hidden beneath his collarbone. I laid kisses among his constellations as he cherished me in return. His curls twisted around my fingers and my own splayed on the pillow beneath my head.

Thumbs on cheeks. Palms on backs. Flushes of red and pink, shudders and trembles soothed with the weight of the other.

I touched. I held. I loved.

His lips carved promises in my skin, and I hoped he'd keep them. Otherwise, I would bear the scars of his love forever.

We were untouchable, unreachable. Lost in a reverie that'd become reality. Lost in him, in us. In breathy gasps, desperate touches, and loving gazes. We were the embodiment of passion, of love.

Of forever.

The summer sun was dwindling. In summer, light didn't leach away as it did in winter; there was no gradual dim before it disappeared completely. In winter, the day melted away into night, escaping little by little and darkening with purpose. But in summer, the bright light disappeared in a blink, pushing past its expiration until it couldn't hold on any longer. It was light one moment and dark the next, but only ever as dark as the months allowed. In summer, the sky fought to illuminate until its final breath.

Some summer nights retained their light. The few times it wasn't spontaneous, and summer won the battle to stay. The rare times it was slow, slower than even winter, and light settled lazily into a mutual understanding with the heat of the day. Times where the twilight settled and played, the frogs croaked, and the fireflies bobbed. Times like at the safehouse, where the light had slipped away drop by drop, chased away by the growing, chanting hum of the cicadas. Times like right then, when Reed's arms held me, and quiet settled around our personal haven. When forever was a concept for today and tomorrow. A definition for him, and for us. When forever was that summer twilight and fading heat.

We laid in his bed, tangled together, and watched the sun drip away from his bedroom window. The sun clung to every skyscraper as it was dragged apart from us. We watched as the day began to wind down, his arms twisting even tighter around me; his hand intertwined with mine.

When Reed finally peeled away to get dinner at the door, I checked my phone. I responded to Kennedy's text, a lewd message stating she had a good idea of why I wasn't back yet. I thanked her for another night of watching Rolo and received a winking emoji, along with some crude reminders of safety, back almost immediately. I barely had time to smile or roll my eyes before the bed dipped again.

Reed tugged me closer, carefully lining kisses up my shoulder. Warm, gentle, loving brushes of lips on bare skin, and I shivered as he made his way up to my neck. When he reached just below my ear, I twisted to face him, pulling his face to mine.

His love carved deeper.

He lingered even as I began to pull away. I watched a slow grin began to grow; it was a wide, lazy smile that brightened his face and softened his sharp features. He hummed softly as his eyes blinked open, and his fingers traced my collarbone.

"Beautiful," he whispered. He leaned up to push my hair behind my ear with his delicate touch. I took his hand then and brought it to my mouth, pressing my lips where our fingers tangled.

I wished I could promise him forever.

I felt the weight of love too heavily, felt the freedom of it tug and lift, and felt the pull of tomorrow and the draw of yesterday like the tides. Love made me weightless. Love made me feel grounded—but I couldn't think too much beyond the present. I could only think of the moment. Maybe the next day, eventually, but I was through planning my forevers before they were ready. I was through being worried what came next or anticipating my next step, through worrying about tomorrows before the nights of today could even reach me. I wouldn't worry about what came next.

Even though I have a feeling you are my forever.

"I can't promise you tomorrow, Reed Sterling. But I'll give you all of my todays." It was murmured into his skin, promised to his soul, and forgiven with a knowing flash of green.

"That's all I need," he reassured with a smile. A beautiful twist of his lips made me realize I was feeling what I worried I never would.

I understood the songs, the poems, the books. I understood the looks, the touches, the smiles. I understood something that could never be explained or calculated; I understood something that could never be defined. Something that could never be caught when chased.

It was something that couldn't be stolen or captured. It came on its own. It came and offered itself if only one was willing to accept, to fight for it. To surrender for it. It was something to nourish, to hold, to protect. Something that came and changed everything.

How strange four letters could hold so much meaning; how odd a single word, often carelessly tossed around, was what I was feeling. Used so often, and not always accurate—but powerful when true. Something felt by so many people, yet eluded so many others, all summed up by that collection of lines. Curves and slants on a page to mean so much.

Four letters.

One syllable.

The twilight had given way to a light drape of night. The sky wasn't completely dark, a side effect of late July, but it was late. Or early, the sun would be up soon.

The light had won the battle, at least for that night.

Reed was a cuddler. He'd wrapped himself around me as his soft breathing filled the room. I loved being held by him, but I had a hard time not twisting and turning. As much as I wanted to stay still, wanted to remain in his arms forever, I found myself unable to fully settle as the minutes ticked by.

I was more relaxed in his arms, but there was no magic cure for the insomnia I'd fought for weeks. While I was closer to achieving that peace than I'd been before, sleep was still just out of reach. The most frustrating part was I certain I could sleep if I would only close my eyes. If I gave up willingly, and was still, I could probably sleep.

I just couldn't close my eyes.

They refused to buckle under the weight of my exhaustion. I didn't know why, but my body did, and it wasn't sharing the secret. So my brain resentfully found itself occupied in other ways, realizing it wasn't being offered the reprieve of silence. Thoughts threatened the resolve I'd sworn myself to. My resolution to defy began to cave under intrusive thoughts, relentless hamster wheels of overthinking, trembling that night.

One part of my 'both' had worked out. The part I'd been most unsure about actually happened; it was wrapped around me. The part I'd thought would be the hardest to achieve had been resolved and moved forward, and it should've filled me with relief about the other half I'd thought would be easier.

But one victory did not guarantee another.

The other half of my 'both' was going to be determined soon. So I found myself fighting the battle against tomorrows sooner than I thought, as I warded off worry about the outcome of my upcoming call with Baros. I'd known it would be an uphill battle to not let the future immobilize me, but I was faced with its offensive launch sooner than I would've liked. I'd known it wouldn't happen overnight, but it was still a war raged in the dark shadows of evening.

What I'd said to Reed was true—I knew I might never become a diplomat. What Kennedy said was true as well, it may not meet my expectations even if I did... but I'd still try, and hope, and dream. The call with Baros would determine how the next few years of my life would look. If I was in D.C. with him on his team, climbing the steep path towards diplomatic immunity, or if I'd be scrambling to find another way. Whether I'd be on the road sooner than later, heading far away from my loved ones. Whether I'd be saying goodbye to Reed in the near future.

There was something else wiggling in my mind. Years of people telling me to settle down, get married, and have kids. I'd finally accepted I wanted some of those things, finally ready to dip a toe in, but my career was still important. I wanted to balance career and family, and I was entitled to it. Like I'd told Reed, I wasn't throwing everything away—I was balancing. It might require some sacrifices, but I didn't have to completely choose between the two. I wouldn't feel bad for the choices I'd make to have both. Priorities would constantly shift depending on where I was needed most, and the same would go for Reed and his career.

I also knew my relationship with Reed would spur comments. It shouldn't bother me what other people would think or say, but I knew there'd be some 'I told you so' and 'Aren't you happier now that you're with someone?' comments. Yes, I was happier, but it wasn't because I was in a relationship, or because I'd found a man. It was because I was with Reed. I was glad I'd waited, and didn't succumb to the pressures that wanted me to rush into commitment.

People would say 'I knew you wanted a family', or something like that. I couldn't stop them, but I also knew people had selective memory when it came to those sorts of things. I'd never said I didn't want a family; I'd only said not yet, or that I wasn't sure. But if I'd chosen differently, that should've been okay too. Kids were still a maybe. Right then, I was happy with my dog and my budding relationship with the slumbering man beside me. No one was going to be able to rush me before I was ready, and I wasn't going to plan when that would be.

Only today. Not tomorrow.

I tried to shift in the bed ever so slightly, so I didn't wake Reed. His arm was wrapped around me so snugly that it was a difficult feat, but for a brief moment I thought I succeeded—until I felt his nose tuck between my shoulder blades.

"Avery," his husky voice was quiet as it dripped with sleep. I froze as I felt the hot words on my back.

Shit, I woke him up.

I hummed softly, hoping it wasn't painfully obvious I was awake.

"Still not sleeping?"

Shit.

He pulled me closer, a hand drawing up to smooth my hair down. I bit my lip as I searched for a response; I didn't want him to think it was because of him.

"I slept?" It came out as more of a question than an answer much to my chagrin. I tried again. "I slept. Just woke up for the bathroom."

It was quiet as the words rolled under the slow spin of the ceiling fan. I felt Reed take a deep breath, the air whooshing over my back and causing warm goose bumps.

"You've never been very good at lying," he whispered, his chin coming to a rest on my shoulder.

I was affronted.

"Excuse me! I work in politics. I'm a very good non-lying liar."

He laughed softly and pressed a kiss to my cheek. Then before I could blink, he untangled himself and rolled off the bed.

"I'll give you that, love. Now come on." He stretched his arms over his head, his shoulders rolling and arms tensing as he pushed away sleep from stiff muscles. His hands dropped and he looked at me, bemused.

Wait, he distracted me. Did he say love? Come on where?

"What?"

But Reed was already crossing to my side of the bed, extending a hand with an expectant look. I eyed it, before eying him. It was still dark outside, but I realized the air was considerably lighter; the curtain of night was being lifted. The sun would be up soon, rejoining the traces of light that'd stayed to stand sentry. Summer couldn't resist the pull of day for too long despite the low numbers on the clock. It was still incredibly early; there weren't a whole lot of places to go at that hour of day. Night. Morning.

Whatever.

"Where are we going?"

"Well, you said you needed to go to the bathroom. I imagine that'll be your first stop." He tugged me up, watching intently for any sign of a grimace or wince due to my leg. It was better, but the muscle still twinged in protest if I moved or twisted too quickly. I didn't let Reed know that, though.

But he's right, I was never a good liar with him.

"And my second?"

"The car," he answered easily.

Wow.

I snorted. I'd heard of being kicked out after, but from what I knew it usually happened immediately following or first thing the next day. Not after cuddling for a few hours or in the middle of the night. And I wasn't sure what his definition of first thing was, but it wasn't before dawn.

"If you're going to kick me out the morning after, you could at least wait until the sun was up."

Reed's face scrunched in confusion, before horror dawned. His hand gripped mine tighter and stopped me from continuing on to his bathroom; he stood directly in front of me, panic enveloping his usual stoic expression.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa. That was not what I meant." Fingers dug into my hips in desperation. A different kind of desperation than the way they'd gripped me earlier, but desperation, nonetheless.

"Uh huh. Then why am I going to the car, exactly?" I lifted an eyebrow, already ready to pounce if he thought he could confess his love for me and then kick me out.

"We. We are going to the car," he corrected.

Still as stingy with the details as ever, Mr. Sterling. Some things don't ever change.

But in a way it was nice. Still annoying. But nice. From the sheer terror that'd gripped him, I believed him when he said he wasn't trying to kick me to the curb.

"And then...?" I trailed off.

"Then we'll drive. So, hurry up." Reed leaned in, burying his head in my neck and leaving a contradictory kiss on my neck. For someone who wanted me to hurry, I wasn't being offered an easy opportunity to walk away.

Just like after my injury, another unspoken line had been crossed between us, and we couldn't stop touching each other. After a few more minutes, he finally untangled himself once again. He begrudgingly let me go, his hungry green eyes following me.

Yep. It's definitely different around here.

Another voice nudged me in the back of my head. Was it? Was it any different, or was I just seeing things clearly now? Because that look was awfully similar to one I'd seen in a hot tub once, what felt like a million years ago.

There was a warm feeling in my chest. Love, of course, that'd long been established... but there was also a surprising feeling of victory. A feeling of 'I did it' that swelled in my lungs and my heart. I'd taken a risk like Kennedy had said, and the world hadn't ended.

My world had gotten a little bigger, instead.

Reed soon led me down the stifling quiet hall of his apartment building. It felt odd to be up at this hour, a nefarious and sneaky feeling knowing there was a dense blanket of slumber that pushed down on the city, but not on us. We'd escaped whether willingly or not. There we were, Reed and I, two souls that snuck away in the night, hand in hand.

It was his car, not mine, that was the destination. I still had no idea where we were going, but there was a rush of joy at climbing in, in returning to his passenger seat and knowing I was heading back on the road with Reed. I didn't care where we were going. As long as we came back for Rolo, I'd follow Reed anywhere.

Reed closed the door after helping me in and was soon in the seat next to me. It wasn't cold, despite the bare hints of sunlight just starting to eagerly flood the sky, and his car smelled like it did the very first time I'd gotten in—spicy and warm like Christmas in the woods.

I still wasn't sure what that meant, but it felt like an accurate description.

Reed pulled the car out of the lot. We slid onto the road, shortly finding our way onto the highway and heading towards the sun. The morning demanded quiet, so that was what we offered. We sat in the mostly silent car, hearing the hum of the road and the breathing of the other. It was perfect.

I pushed back further into the seat. Exhaustion was pulling at my limbs, tugging on the edges of my brain. I'd been waiting desperately for sleep but now found myself aggravated at the timing. Reed was taking me somewhere, and my body had decided right then was the time to finally shut down.

I planned to fight it, but I didn't get the chance. Reed's hand found its way in mine and came to a rest on my knee; his fingers brushed the skin of my leg as they tangled firmly with my own. I glanced at him, but he was already watching me out of the corner of his eye, bouncing attention between me and the road. When he saw I was looking, he turned his head for just a moment, risking it to meet my gaze.

"Sleep," he said quietly. A content smile played on his lips, and I realized why we were in the car. We didn't have a destination in mind; we had a goal. So, I closed my eyes, and I let that goal rush over me.

I slept.

There was no magic cure, but there was an overwhelming number of factors stacked heavily enough together to pull me under.

Déjà vu was a tricky thing. It was disconcerting, but I welcomed it; I welcomed the feeling when it was the sun on my skin, its warmth familiar as I woke in the passenger seat of Reed's car. I welcomed it when it meant turning and seeing Reed calmly at the wheel.

"How'd you sleep?"

I rubbed my eyes, peering at the time. I'd slept for a while and was disoriented, but happy. I shifted in my seat, rolling my neck before facing Reed.

"Good. I slept good." A simple response, but Reed didn't need anymore. A blinding smile spread across his face and infected my own. I was happy.

I turned to the window, entirely unsure what I'd see and prepared for anything, but still found myself surprised. We'd ended up among the tall hills that surrounded our valley, weaving around inclines and rocky drop-offs. It was a popular hiking area, but I hadn't found myself up there much other than to pass through to other cities. That road was usually traveled by people jumping regions; it was an interstate that fought its way through the unpredictable hills.

Reed caught my eye. "I wanted to keep us near, so we had time to get back for your phone call. You never said what time it was scheduled for."

"It's later this afternoon, but I appreciate the thoughtfulness. It's definitely not a phone call I want to miss." I laughed nervously, hoping it would smooth the anxiety I felt bubbling in my chest.

"You'll do fine. Do I look worried?" Reed asked, eyes alight with amusement.

"I'm not sure you looking worried is a good measure," I reasoned with a smile. "It's not a look you wear often. If I saw it, I'd probably be sure it was the end of the world."

"Exactly."

We settled into comfortable silence again as I fiddled with the radio—but then Reed did look worried.

It was small at first, a subtle shift in the way his hands held the wheel. Then, it was how his shoulders tensed, his jaw tightened, and his foot pressed down.

Except his foot was pressing on the brake.

And the car was speeding up.

And then the small shifts grew, until he really did look worried. It was a stormy worry that swirled in his eyes and darkened his face. It was a worry that wasn't spoken aloud until it turned into panic.

"Reed."

My voice was low. I watched his foot press harder on the brake; I watched our speed rise. I watched his foot begin to pump harder to try to slow us down.

"Reed," my voice repeated, a little louder. I knew Reed had heard me the first time, but it was the second time that got his attention. Only a quick glance, but it was all I needed.

Something was wrong.

He was worried.