Mimikw

You suddenly woke because of the heavy breathing beside you.

You'd been sleeping for a few hours, but the harsh gasps of air and shaking happening next to you pulled you from your sleep.

"K…?" You mumbled as you wiped one hand over your eyes and threw the other hand out towards his side of the bed. Your hand brushed against his back, and he jumped.

You yanked your hand back quickly and sat up, now fully awake, staring at K's tense back as he hunched over the side of the bed.

He refused to turn towards you as you shuffled closer to his back and kept breathing hard. His hands were shaking against the sides of his head, brushing his fingers through his hair, trying to calm himself down.

K sniffled, and you raised an eyebrow. He's had nightmares before, sure, but crying wasn't normally what happened when he woke from one.

Usually, after waking from a nightmare, he would quietly get out of bed and sit alone in the other room. He’d open his book but only stare blankly at the pages, running his thumb along the edges without reading.

You'd sit near him after giving him a few minutes alone, and K would ever so slowly begin to relax.

Sometimes you would wrap a blanket around him, and other times he'd slumped into your shoulder, head ducked down as he breathed into your shirt.

He wouldn't speak, but he'd find your hand and hold it tightly, not letting go for hours.

This was different. Crying meant something seriously rattled him, and you weren't sure you'd be able to get him to open up. At least not for a long time.

You swung your legs over the side of the bed and sat next to him, pressing your thigh against his with barely any pressure to tell him you were there.

K huffed and swiped a hand over his face, drying his eyes. "Sorry I woke you," His voice cracked. His voice was nearly inaudible, but you heard the shake in it.

You turned your head and scanned him. His head was ducked so low his chin was almost touching his chest, and he was gripping the sides of his head roughly.

You reached a tentative hand out and laid it over his, where it gripped his hair. You waited a moment, giving him time to push your hand away or move, but he didn't. You slowly wrapped your fingers under his and pulled his hand away from his head.

"K…" you whispered softly as, once his hand was free, you took it in yours. You stretched out his fingers gently before intertwining them with your own. With your other hand, you traced light patterns along his knuckles before resting your laced fingers in your lap.

He squeezed your hand and released the grip his other hand had on his head. K slowly dropped the hand away from his head and placed it on his knee. His hand clenched his pants, but he didn't have a white-knuckle grip as he'd had on his scalp.

You kept tracing his fingers and knuckles, giving him time to process and think about what to do or say.

"…Just a memory," He mumbled finally. "It's not even real."

You hummed softly in response. "If it hurts you, it is." You dropped his hand and pressed it against your lips.

K shook his head, and a tear fell down his face. He didn't bother wiping his face off; he just stared at the tear mark on his pants when the tear landed on it. "It's not real," He said again. It sounded more like he was trying to convince himself than you.

"You're real," You said firmly, voice loud in the silent room. "If you're real, then what you feel is real."

K glanced over at you and furrowed his brows. "But-"

"You got a heartbeat and a brain, that's all you need, really." You shrugged, casual and sure of your logic.

K squeezed your hand and looked back down at the floor, thinking.

"Just hard to believe…" He admitted after a minute of silence.

You squeezed his hand back gently and shuffled closer to him, leaning your shoulder against his. "I know, but I'll keep telling you you're real until you believe it."

K chuckled with a watery smile. "So stubborn," He teased. His body was more relaxed now. He couldn't completely believe your words after so long of hearing the opposite, but it felt good to hear.

You bumped a shoulder against his playfully and pulled him back fully onto the bed. "Think you like me that way," You shot back with a laugh.

K got back under the covers beside you and pulled you close to his chest. He ducked his head down and pressed a kiss to your head. "Wouldn't have it any other way," K whispered, tone full of affection.

You held onto him tightly in response and brushed your hand up and down his side.

K felt himself starting to fall asleep and pulled the covers higher over you, swarming you both in warmth.

You two fell asleep wrapped around each other, bundled in the blankets.

the man isn't completely inexperienced, but he certainly isn't used to having sex. he's only done it like once ever. so he probably needs guidance at first

but once he's got a solid grasp on the mechanics of it? ohhh BOY buckle in

he's not used to making decisions on his own so it's kind of a free-for-all. if you want to do it? sure, he will too! no kink is taboo for him because he has virtually No Idea what the social norms around sex are anyway

probably is very bad at communication at first. you have to drill the concept of consent into him several times before he gets comfortable enough to tell you when he wants to stop

the first time you guys have sex its literally insane to him. like for once he actually WANTS to do it and its amazing. he can't help but wonder how humans get literally anything done because they COULD be having awesome mind-blowing sex all the time!!

this does lead to him becoming a little sex-crazed for a while. wants to do it several times a day (and has the modified stamina to back it up). i'm talking when you wake up, before he goes to work, when he gets home, before you go to bed type shit.

he gets a little animalistic in bed i feel. because god it's the only time he feels completely and totally human. he's not a replicant, he's not an officer with a serial number, he's yours. and it makes him insane

probably quite noisy once he gets comfortable, low sounds deep in his chest

8.5 inches, keeps himself well-trimmed (like the rest of him)

his favorite thing in the world is getting head. i'm sorry. but it's one of the only times he can let himself be selfish. it's all for HIM

actually incredibly hygienic afterwards i can't lie (unless you convince him otherwise...cough cockwarming...)

You clasped your hands tightly in your lap and gave a faint nod. "As always... right?"

Something in your voice finally made him turn around. His eyes found you. Yours never left your hands, your fingers curled together so tightly your knuckles had turned white.

"You know..." You spoke just as quietly as before. "If I did something wrong... you can tell me."

"You didn't." His voice remained calm and steady.

You nodded again. "Maybe I said something."

"No."

A slow breath. "Maybe I reacted the wrong way, or..."

"No."

"So what the hell is happening?" Your voice cracked. You were seconds away from crying. K knew it. Your throat tightened painfully as you struggled to breathe. "Something's been wrong for weeks, and I have no idea what it is. You avoid me. You don't even look at me anymore. When I touch you…” Your voice trembled. "Your whole body tenses." A shaky laugh escaped you. "Damn it... I don't even know what I'm supposed to do anymore."

K shifted where he stood. There was worry in his eyes. Sadness and pain. You looked so fragile. So defenseless in front of him. And every second he remained silent only deepened the despair consuming you. Because of him.

The rain filled the silence between you for what felt like forever. Then your voice broke through it once more. Small and exhausted. Almost defeated.

"Is it because of what I am?"

The question had lived inside your head for weeks. He was a replicant. You were human. To you, it had never mattered. Apparently...you were the only one. 

K frowned and took a cautious step toward you. "What do you mean?"

You brushed a strand of hair away from your face before standing abruptly, pacing across the room as though movement alone could untangle the thoughts trapped inside your head.

"I keep replaying every conversation we've had." You laughed bitterly. "I'm searching for the moment I ruined everything. The mistake I made." You stopped walking. "I keep thinking it's because of who I am. If I were like you..."

"No…" He tried to interrupt, but you didn't let him.

The words had been trapped inside you for too long. Now they poured out all at once.

"Maybe I'm too emotional."

"I love that about you."

"Maybe I smother you without realizing it."

"You don't."

"Maybe..." Your voice almost disappeared. "Maybe you're disgusted by what I am."

Not who, but what. Your eyes finally met his. They were glassy with tears. Your lips trembled. You looked like you were barely holding yourself together. K wanted to cross the room, to hold you, but he was terrified that if he came too close you would fall apart in his hands.

"I see it, K." Your voice was barely audible. "I see the way you look at me. I feel it when you touch me. When you kiss me. When we make love. You do it because you think you have to, not because you want to." A tear slipped down your cheek. "I disgust you." You laughed softly through tears. "And I hate myself for it."

The words settled heavily between you. K looked as though someone had placed a bomb in the middle of his apartment. A countdown only he could hear. You, meanwhile didn't care anymore.

"Maybe..." You swallowed hard. "...if I were someone worth choosing..."

"I choose you." K's voice was quiet.

You looked up at him. "Do you? Because it feels like every day you choose to leave me instead."

His eyes fell to the floor. For the first time Officer K looked less like the man you'd always known and more like someone completely broken. You would've given anything for him to tell you what was really happening inside his head. But he remained impossible to read. You spoke the same language. Yet somehow you couldn't understand each other.

"I think..." His low voice filled the silence. “if I were enough you'd have a better life."

Your head jerked up. "W-What?"

"If I were human. If I could give you the future you deserve. If I could give you a family. You'd be better off with someone else."

The air left your lungs. It felt as if someone had punched you straight through the chest. After everything you'd been through together… After every promise… After loving him with everything you had… Those were still the words that came out of his mouth.

When you spoke again, your voice shook with anger. "How dare you decide that for me?"

K looked up.

"How dare you throw me out of your life behind my back and hide behind this ridiculous excuse that it's somehow for my own good. That you know what's best for me."

"You say that now."

"I've always said that." You rubbed your temples, staring at him in disbelief. "I knew who you were from the very beginning. I told you, over and over, that it didn't matter. And now you're using that against me?" A hollow laugh escaped you. "I can't believe this. I can't fucking believe this."

You stood there with your hands on your hips, blinking furiously to keep more tears from falling. This was worse than you'd imagined. You felt sick. Like you wanted to scream until there was nothing left inside you.

"You know what's funny?" A faint, broken smile crossed your lips. "I always thought you weren't afraid of anything, K. Nothing. But you're terrified of me."

He didn't move.

"You're terrified of living."

His expression faltered.

"You're terrified of wanting something. Or someone."

His eyes stayed fixed on you. Dim. Defeated. Yes, he was afraid. Every single day. Not for himself, for you.

"You don't get to decide what kind of life is worth living for me." Your voice was calm now, almost frighteningly so. "I don't know what I'm supposed to do to make you believe in me...in us. But I don't have the strength to keep fighting anymore." A shaky breath. "I'm so tired, K."

He flinched. He'd imagined this moment. He'd feared it, but now that it stood in front of him… He'd never felt more terrified. He took a step toward you.

"You have to understand…"

"No." The look you gave him stopped the words in his throat. "You have to understand. I can't keep you trapped. You don't want me."

"That's not true."

"No?" A sad smile tugged at your lips. "Because every single day says otherwise. Stop hiding behind concern for me to justify your own fears. You keep pouring your doubts into me… And like a fool, I keep trying to prove to you...to myself...that my love is enough for both of us." You drew in a deep breath. "If you really loved me..."

His jaw clenched. He did. God, he did. He had never been more certain of anything. But the fear, the certainty that one day you'd finally realize he would never be enough, paralyzed him. The more he loved you, the more terrified he became. He wanted to tell you. He wanted you to understand that it had never been about you. Not once. The fault had always been his. Always.

"I need time." Your voice cut through the silence like a gunshot. "I need space."

K froze.

"I can't do this anymore. It's destroying me."

His brow furrowed. "What does that mean?"

You looked at him, at the man you loved. The man you trusted. The man you would've given everything for. And at the same time, the man who had hurt you so deeply that you were finally searching for a way to survive without him.

"It means..." Your voice was barely a whisper. "I need to learn how to breathe again. How to be enough for myself. I don't want to keep fighting a battle I was doomed to lose from the very beginning." A tear rolled down your cheek. "I'm sorry."

He watched you pick up your jacket and walk toward the door. And then… He listened as it quietly closed behind you. That night, you walked away carrying such a large piece of him that K wasn't sure there was enough left to keep going. He had spent weeks believing this was what he wanted. That pushing you away would protect you. That losing you by choice would hurt less than losing you by fate.

But as the silence settled over the apartment, as your footsteps disappeared into the rain… He realized, far too late, that this had never been the future he'd wanted. His fear had won. And in the end it had taken the only person he'd ever loved with it.

He could feel the sticky blood slowly pouring out of his body, spreading over his stomach and down the staircase, accumulating in a pool by his feet. He could feel the warm tendrils temporarily warming his skin where they touched it ever so softly. He could feel the sharp pain radiating from the wound, beating in tandem with his heart.

He had been feeling a lot recently. He wasn’t sure what of it was real anymore, if anything.

A snowflake landed on his upper lip, and when it melted, it left a droplet of water behind, which slid into his mouth, landing on his tongue. He closed his lips, savoring the fresh coldness of the water.

He doubted he had more than a couple of minutes left to live.

‘Live’, he almost scoffed at the thought. He had seen a miracle, had experienced it. He felt on every level there was, but still, it hadn’t been him. He hadn’t been able to rip himself away from what had been decided was his life.

He was created and now he would be destroyed. He was born and now he would die.

He closed his eyes. Maybe it was for the best. Joi was gone, he was alone, and he wasn’t human. No one will care that he’ll bleed out on these steps. Just another replicant that needed to be retired. Just another officer who died in the line of duty.

The words Lieutenant Joshi had said to him days ago in her office rang around his head, “You’ve been getting on fine without one!” 

He wished he had a soul, or maybe he just wished that the pain would finally end. If he were lucky, birth and death were so intertwined that in the same way that the first gave you a soul, the latter took it back, and wherever one went afterwards, they would accept him, even without one.

Then again, he wasn’t sure whether he would die, or simply stop being.

“Hey,” a voice sounded from somewhere far away. It was a nice voice, he was still aware enough to realize that. “Hey! Are you okay?”

His arm shifted, but he wasn’t the one moving it. The coldness that had enveloped him was chased away, where he could feel his body being repositioned.

There was some mumbling followed by cursing. His coat was lifted away from his side, baring the wound to the freezing air, making him shiver more. “Okay, alright. I think I can help you. I just need you to come with me, please.”

He smiled, convinced now that he had died and gone to wherever beings with souls are allowed to go. The voice had said ‘please’ as if actually caring about what he wanted. As if he had any say in what happened to him.

“Is that a ‘yes’? I’ll—I’ll just take that as a yes. I need you to try to get up with me.” The voice hesitated. “I’m sorry, but it’ll probably hurt.”

The smile stayed on his lips. It was sweet the way that the voice seemed to actually care for his well-being. It made the rest of the chill occupying his body vanish.

His arm was tugged forward, and he automatically sat up with it, groaning at the pain racing through his body. He blinked his eyes open, finding the outline of a person next to him, holding his left arm.

“You’re fine. You’re fine. I got you. Deep breath,” the voice—you—said. “Now, on three, I need you to try to get on your legs, okay? I’ll support you, and you can lean on me, but I can’t completely carry you.”

You waited, and he realized that you wouldn’t move before he gave his okay, so he nodded as much as he was able to. At that point, he could only feel about sixty percent of his body.

“Perfect. On three, one… two… three,” you said and pulled his arm around your shoulder, heaving him upwards as much as you were able to. He let out another long groan, but managed to stay on his own feet, even though his legs were shaky and he had to put most of his weight on you.

You put your arm around his waist and gently led him forward, step by step, making sure that he didn’t trip. When he let out a muffled moan, you stopped immediately, checking in with him and asking if he needed a break. He wasn’t sure where you were leading him, but it didn’t matter to him anyway, he had already decided to follow you.

After a couple of minutes, blood loss was really starting to hit him. Everything was whirling around him so when he heard the sound of a Spinner door opening, he didn’t have the strength to worry where you got the mostly police-used vehicle, nor to continue keeping his eyes open.  

His body fell onto the bouncy seat and he was out like a light.

────────

The first thing he registered when he woke up was that everything felt comfortable. The second thing was that actually, his stab wound still hurt pretty badly, but other than that, it was like he was floating on a warm cloud.

He tried to sit up, but your hand on his chest pushed him back down onto the mattress. “Easy. You’re safe, everything is fine.”

He looked around him and saw that he was in a windowless room, sparsely lit by different lamps standing all over. There were a couple of bookcases and a closet, although they were all already pretty old, looking ready to fall apart at the slightest touch. The walls were a dark gray, matching the concrete floor. The mattress he was lying on was settled on top of what he assumed were several slabs of metal—he could feel the gaps and slight variations in height through the cushion.

You must have noticed his scrutinizing. “We’re at my place. I know it’s not much, but…” you shrugged.

“I like it,” he said. You looked a bit surprised to hear him speak and smiled.

“Thank you.” You sat down on the edge of the mattress, far enough away from K that you weren’t touching, but near enough so that he could feel his nerves react to you as if you were. “How are you feeling?”

He almost smiled again at the question. It really was sweet.

“I haven’t glued the wound together yet. I wasn’t sure whether you’d be okay with me getting all close like that. At the same time, it probably would have spared you some pain if I had done it while you were still unconscious, so, yeah… tough situation. Sorry if I made the wrong decision for you.”

“You’re fine,” he said, voice low. “You didn’t have to do all this.”

You frowned. “Of course I had to, you’re a person, and people don’t deserve to die out in the cold, alone.”

“No.” K looked away from you, down at the slightly tattered maroon blanket thrown across his legs and stomach. “I’m… I’m not.”

Realization flickered over your features, but instead of disgust upon realizing what you had accidentally dragged into your home, resolve settled on your face, making you tilt your head forward in defiance. “Yes, you are.”

“I’m a—”

“Who cares?” You cut him off. Your voice was dismissive, but the way your fingers were rapidly tapping your thighs made it clear that you did care at least in some way. K didn’t want to push you away, in fact, he wanted to absorb as much of the comfort you were so naively offering him, but some part of him needed you to understand—some part of him needed you to push him away.

“You are a cop, though, right?” You asked in a small voice.

“That’s all I am,” he answered without hesitation, and your eyes narrowed at that.

“Is it?”

This time he had to think about it. Technically, the answer was easy: yes. However, he was quite certain that he was fired, or the replicant version of it, which meant that he was supposed to get retired. But he doubted anyone would actually come looking for him, and if he wouldn’t retire, but also wouldn’t be able to keep working, then where did that leave him?

“I’m…” he felt the heat of shame burn down his body at not being able to answer the question accurately.

“Well, are you gonna arrest me?” you asked, seemingly having regained some confidence while he struggled to answer.

“What?” The question shocked him. “Of course not.”

That wasn’t even something he did while still actively working for the LAPD. He had no right to arrest or subjugate a human. 

And he was sure you were human; it was something in your eyes, a flicker that he had only ever spotted in humans—he had assumed that it was their souls shining through.

“Good.” You smiled at him.

“Why…” he hesitated. “Why would you think that?”

Your lips parted slightly, but you continued smiling. “You really were out of it, huh? I’ll let you in on a little secret,” you leaned in closer, and a part of him wanted to close the gap between your bodies, if only to feel your skin on his at least once. “I am not part of the LAPD, and the Spinner I used to get you here isn’t really registered in my name.”

“You stole it,” he said, not as an accusation, but just as a statement.

You nodded, and if he didn’t know any better, he’d think you looked a bit proud.

“They’ll come looking for you for that. All vehicles of the LAPD are tracked, and any theft is not treated lightly. When they find you, you will be prosecuted to the fullest extend of the law.” You waved him off, rolling your eyes, and he felt a twinge of annoyance at your flippant behavior. Didn’t you know how dangerous it was? You shouldn’t go around telling people you stole from the LAPD, and you definitely shouldn’t have taken him in. You should have left him there—let nature run its course.

“I have been using it for years now. And it was already old and abandoned when I found it.”

“Still,” he sat up, ignoring the sharp flash of pain shooting through him. He needed you to understand. “It’s foolish. You shouldn’t have taken me with you.”

“What?”

“It’s dangerous.”

“You’re dangerous?”

“Yes.” The word hung heavy in the air, drowning out the quiet buzzing coming from the ceiling lamp.

You tilted your head slightly, but to his annoyance, you didn’t seem afraid, more so intrigued. “To me?” you asked, and the question made him wince.

“No,” he whispered. You had saved him. You had let him rest on your bed. If he’d get the chance to, he would spend the rest of his existence trying to repay that debt. Maybe that could be his new existence, his next purpose.

“Then what’s the problem?” you whispered back.

Everything, nothing, he, you. His gaze bore into you, begging you to answer the question for him. How was he possibly supposed to react to that?

You noticed him getting overwhelmed, and backed off, getting up. “It’s okay, take your time. May I now take care of your wound, please?”

It took every training he had ever received not to whimper at the tenderness in your tone. He nodded. At first his eyes stayed glued to the blanket, but when you turned and started rummaging around the room, he followed your every movement. He lost sight of you for a couple of seconds when you walked through a rusty door he hadn’t noticed before, but you joined him back in the room quickly, now carrying some medical supplies.

You laid the things out on the mattress and then moved to his right side, kneeling next to the bed. You found his eyes with your own and then nodded your head toward a chair standing around a small, rickety table. “Your coat is over there. I took it off you because I figured it would be more comfortable. Hope that was okay.”

He nodded. He hadn’t even looked up to confirm whether his coat actually was there.

“I’ll have to lift your shirt, okay?”

K wasn’t sure whether he had ever laughed before, but suddenly he felt the bubbly feeling of humor crawling up his throat. He choked it back down and just mumbled a quick, “Yes.” And then tacked on a “Thank you.” It landed somewhere between ridiculous and confused.

You pulled the blanket down his chest, and then gently slid your hands up his shirt, pushing it upward. Your fingers grazed his stomach and chest, leaving trails of lightning behind. It didn’t hurt, but it should have. It should have hurt, but it didn’t.

It burned, though.

The wound on his lower stomach was covered with a thick piece of gauze, flimsily taped down. “I had to at least stop the bleeding a bit,” you said it like it was an apology and not the nicest thing anyone had ever done for K.

You pulled the strip of tape off him, and the gauze with it. The wound underneath was deep, bloody, and K suddenly felt ashamed of it. He didn’t want you to see him like that. He wasn’t made to be hurt and vulnerable. But when the tips of your fingers swept along the edges of it, an eerie part of him wished you would stuff your fingers into the laceration. Burrow them deep until you were covered in his blood, and he could keep you close and safe.

He took a deep breath, closing his eyes, and hoped you would chalk it off to him being a bit squeamish at the ghastly sight. Then he felt the need to slap himself because he didn’t want you to think of him as fragile.

“I’ll glue it back together now, okay?”

“You don’t have to keep asking.”

You looked up, and when your eyes met, his fingers twitched. You studied him for a moment before continuing your work, reaching for the glue. “Alright, but I think I’ll continue to do so anyway. ‘S just good manners.”

He didn’t answer, he couldn’t; what was there to say?

The glue was familiar in its stickiness, and when it touched the laceration, K instinctively flinched away from it. You placed the hand not holding the glue over his ribs, not pushing or pulling, just a light touch, dragging him away from everything outside of this room, and anchoring him to you, to this moment.  

You pressed the edges of the wound together now, sealing everything back inside where it belonged. K hoped that something of you would stay inside him as well; a lash, maybe, or a little bit of the breath you exhaled, which had caressed his skin ever since you kneeled down next to him.

After a couple of seconds, you let go of him and then hummed in satisfaction when the wound stayed closed. “Perfect.”

K shifted a bit, and his hand landed close to where yours rested next to his chest. Without realizing what he was doing, he brushed his fingers against the back of your hand, hypnotized by the way your skin felt so soft, something that seemed impossible considering the brutal world you lived in.

When you moved your hand, he pulled back instantly, shame once again flooding his mind at being caught behaving like… like that. But you didn’t say anything, you didn’t even look at him weirdly, you just turned your hand around and then offered it back to him. Hesitantly, he traced the faint lines running over the palm of your hand, following them from side to side, mapping the constellation that was your skin.

“Thank you.” He sounded out of breath even to himself.

“You’re welcome.” With the hand not caught in his grasp, you pulled his shirt back down, covering him once again with the blanket. The gesture was ridiculous; the softness of the blanket was almost grating next to the feeling of you. “D’you want some painkillers?”

“No,” he exhaled. He closed his fingers around your hand and then furrowed his brows so hard it almost hurt. “Why are you doing this? You’re not supposed to do that.”

“Says who?” You asked and offered him your other hand. He was now clutching both of yours between his, and the sensation was enough to make him feel light-headed.

He shook his head. “Don’t ask that.”

“You know…” You hesitated, before continuing voice low and soft, with just a hint of sadness, “You deserve to not be in pain.”

Ironically, your words might have been one of the most painful sensations he had ever experienced. He’s sure you could feel his hands tremble, but he was too tired to correct himself. He stared down, and the sight of your combined hands set something loose in him that crumbled down, down, until its debris jumbled throughout his body, covering him whole.

You tried to pull your right hand away from him, and for just a second, he didn’t let go. He was stronger than you, no question about it. He could keep you there, in his hands, safe and soft. But then he did let go, because he only wanted what you were willing to give, anything else would be simulated, and he couldn’t continue existing in a world where the only affection he would get was forced.

To his relief, you didn’t pull away completely, in fact, your hand moved up to his face, settling on his cheek and gently urging him to look up. Your eyes were filled with compassion and a kindness so consuming, K had to blink just to not get overwhelmed.

“I don’t know what happened to you, or anything about you, really.” You smiled at him. “But I do know that no one, human or replicant, deserves to feel pain just for existing.”

Your other hand moved from between his, but before he could protest, you grasped his hand, placing it on your chest, right over your heart. Afterward, you placed your hand on his chest, over his heart.

The feeling of your heartbeat, stable, strong, so alive, beneath his palm was only seconded by the implication of the gesture. Your hearts weren’t beating in tune, but if he tried hard enough, maybe he could match his pulse to yours.

His other hand hovered over your form before settling on your cheek. When your thumb started caressing his face, he copied the movement. Your thumb was a little calloused, making him shiver with every stroke, but the skin of your face was warm and soft under his own callouses.

He couldn’t say for how long you two stayed that way. Without windows or clocks, there was no way to tell how much time had passed. It might have been minutes, it might have been an hour. All he could focus on was how right it felt to sit there with you, sharing touches and heartbeats.