Archive of Our Own

Your whole life has been about violence in some form or another and you've accepted that as truth. 

Done to others, done to you. 

Stand between, rather than beside.

Your internal monologue resonates in your mind, pounds in your ears with every ounce of danger you find yourself in. 

'Stay alive, 

Keep everyone safe, 

Stand up for those who cannot stand for themselves'

And it repeats in your head for every job you take and it echoes with every person you save, lives within the eventual guilt from every person you've hurt. 

It's the tricky discomfort of having empathy in a world where most lack it, in a profession you're not supposed to feel anything but have always felt everything.

But above all else it's always just: survive.

Until you met her and it became about so much more.

Ayla the idol, the consummate professional, impressively talented, darling of the world and Ira the loveliest (most frustratingly endearing), kindest, softest person you've ever known, wonderfully wound and effortlessly now entwined, professionally and personally, with you.

You're slowly realizing just how much.

That you need her. That you want to be around her. That you want her happiness.

You're still trying to understand what that all means.

It'd been a whirlwind evening, the one where you first met her, one you'll never forget because the chain of events set in motion the most important assignment you'd ever be given and you're grateful. 

For it, for her, for the trajectory of it all.

You'd just gotten off work and parted with your team and decided to run home rather than wait for a taxi and it... changed everything. 

That day you'd easily put in ten hours sparring and weight training, as you did back then, lived at the gym and firing range, obsessively training and putting your body through hell so you could become the absolute best. So you could someday run your own team and make your mother proud.

It's all you'd ever wanted.

Normally the city is loud, horns and engines and people yelling, but that day, through the cacophony downpour around you, as you pushed your body through its exhaustion to make it home, there had been an eerie silence, and through that silence you heard a scream that made your stomach drop and your instincts snap to attention and you just knew.

Somehow you were in the exact right place at the exact right moment because someone was in danger.

There was a young girl collapsed in the alley, sobbing and scared and drenched and you could just make out the men hovering around her, clearly opportunistic bullies (you can't stand bullies) who were going to take advantage of an innocent, and you'd thrown yourself into them full chest, dismantling them one by one, catching her eyes every few moments as you effortlessly subdued them until they ran from you and all that remained was you and her and the sudden silence of destiny.

Before you met her you never understood that you could desire more violently than you could ever subdue. That your body could be more than just a means to an end. That every hour and every rep and every shot brought you to that exact moment and they were all worth it.

You'd taken her hand and she'd smiled up at you and told you her name and your life had changed forever.

Because of her.

----

You'd been self-defense training with Ira, casually, as per your long list of rules, because she doesn't take a single one of them seriously and it drives you absolutely crazy. She's playful and bratty, pushing back with every instruction and flirting with every touch, emphatically giving her opinion in everything you ask, and you're loath to admit just how much you enjoy the tension.

How much you enjoy her.

How much you enjoy this job.

How much you hate that you do.

Because the push and pull of doing this with her, teaching her how to protect herself, having her in your face and in your space and challenging you with every word is intoxicating and it scares you more than you'd care to admit.

Because lately her smile has felt different. 

She's different. 

And it makes you nervous because you're noticing her more and more.

Her posture has improved and she's quicker and lighter on her feet and she's even started anticipating your next move and you're proud, even though she argues with every command you give her and half the time you want to show her what you're fully capable of so she'll understand just how hard you've worked to get to where you are and take it more seriously. 

She's absolutely stunning and of course you expend a lot of energy noticing, trying not to notice, while being absolutely desperate to. She's always glowing and beaming and always just within reach but out of your grasp in the ways you long to have her. 

Because she is your client and you are her bodyguard and she's famous.

But her laugh is always electric, pulling you in, keeping you rooted and desperate for closer and stronger and to touch more of her; hold her in your arms and never let go. 

And there's a new energy that flows between you, as if your skin and her skin must meet, you must feel her, be near her, she must stay.

Safe. Alive. Yours.

Except she's not, not really.

You've been her bodyguard for months now and can feel yourself holding back, trying but failing to put up walls, like you always have with every client. But she's different and she knows she is and she knows she can put on her charm to disarm and uses her humor to catch you off guard. 

Every second you spend with her becomes one more chip in your armor.

She's clingy and sweet and teases you constantly, but the more comfortable you get with her, the harder it is to keep her at a distance. The longer you spend with her the more endeared you are and the long list of rules you'd given her when you were hired becomes shorter and shorter because she makes sure it's near impossible for you to resist, for you to enforce, for you to not want to give her the whole world.

So, Instead you find yourself watching her from afar, now wanting more than just casual professional touches but never allowing yourself to crawl into the potential warmth of it all. 

Warmth of her.

Because you are maybe the sun, incandescent and warm watching over her, and maybe she could be your stunning moon calling you home, pulling the tides in you; the perfect balance, the perfect fit, the perfect everything. 

You've never cared this much about anyone.

But it's her.

And you worry what it all means because you may have come to her rescue once and she may have hired you to protect her now, but this is still just a job, even if it's the most important job of your life, and the lines becoming more blurred with every interaction is not something you're used to. 

Maybe if you'd met again as just Ira and you just Tawan things would be different, but even with your reservations you can feel that she's slowly unraveling you, won't let you stay hidden from the shadows because she wants to see you, and somehow you've lost the resolve to say no. 

She touches you more, casual brushes of her hands, against your skin, links your fingers and holds tightly when she's nervous, and you find yourself reaching for her in more than just crowded spaces and it's a constant battle between your logical brain and your runaway heart and the confliction tears you into pieces every time you're near her. 

It's not something that's ever happened to you before, should never happen, cannot happen further and it messes with your head and hurts your heart and you have no idea how to handle a situation like this. In all your training and all your strength and all your knowledge of human psychology, you never once had to worry about your own.

Because maybe hiding away together in her house to protect her doesn't last (you want it to), and maybe she doesn't feel the same way (you hope she does), and maybe you'll inevitably break her heart (it would devastate you), or worse, and if you let yourself truly want happiness like this in any real sort of way, the potential that something awful will happen is far too great.

If past experience has taught you anything, where you end up, tragedy will eventually find you.

You're not sure you're strong enough to lose her if you actually allow yourself to want her.

And it scares you in those moments where you catch yourself staring a little too long or wanting a little too hard or appreciating a little too longingly when you should be more disciplined. She is not yours and this is not real and you know what happened to Icarus when he got too close to the sun. 

----

You watch her sometimes as she dances, endlessly going through her stage show trying to perfect every move and every song and you perch on the stairs and pine because she really is lovely to watch. You sit just out of sight so she can't catch you, so you don't bother her or break her focus, even though you assume she still knows you're there and close. 

She seems to draw strength from having you near and you find a sense of calm and awe in watching her and it's... comfortable.

The contrast makes your head spin.

She's a hard worker, a perfectionist in the same ways that you are, but she's also extremely hard on herself and sometimes you wonder why that sweet girl you found on the ground in the pouring rain all those years ago chose such a harshly critical profession when she could have become anything.

Her schedule has been insane lately, no days off, barely any time to do much of anything, but she's started to make time for you and time for her training sessions because even if she fights you on it, you can tell that she's started to get nervous with the growing crowds and the outreached hands and the noise of the people that gather for her.

Every time you train she insists on having music blasting from her sound system, and it's one of the caveats you've given her wiggle room on in order to get her to actually do it with you. Because you can see just how exhausting all of this is for her, even through her smiles and her gratitude and her humbleness, none of it comes easy. 

When she can fit time in for you between her own rehearsals, in the studio or in her living room, you start to care more about her, about her life, about her experiences because once you see her work ethic you're amazed. Because yes she likes to argue and yes she likes to pretend to fuss you about your rules, but at the end of the day she knows you have her best interests at heart and tries her best.

And you hate to admit it but you have started to actually enjoy the way she sings and dances and floats around as you're sparring, the smiles and the laughter, how she somehow finds a way to make everything fun.

How you can't stop yourself from playing back with her, even though you try your absolute hardest to be serious and determined because it is important and you're desperate to make sure she can defend herself. 

Because if there's ever a chance the two of you aren't together, or separated in any real scenario, and you can't do it for her, you need for her to be safe, need for her to be able to come back to you in, what you're discovering, more than just a client and employer kind of way. 

And you'll make sure in little ways you can, even if this isn't forever and even if she's a brat about it, you genuinely hope that the things you teach her and the protection you show her helps her know her worth beyond her fame. 

That she can be her own savior as much as she can hire someone to be.

----

She asks for a break in order to tie her shoes (she's not wearing any), to cool off a little too (it's easier just to go along and be confused), and you agree because the more intense working with her gets, the harder it has become to keep your distance (you need all the help you can get)

And there's probably not a single soul on the planet that can blame you.

So you stop to grab some water, to catch your breath, to calm your heart because her hands have been all over you and yours have been gripping every centimeter you can get yours on of hers, and before you can even pick up the water bottle, she rushes at you from behind, catching you off guard. 

Her quickness is new, impressive even, and within a fraction of a second she's got you pinned hard to the window, arm behind your back, her body pressed firmly to yours, chest and cheek to glass and she's giggling.

It's easy to get out of her hold, she still hasn't quite mastered how to use her opponent's weight against them and her feet are in the wrong positions, her grip is wrong too, but you decide to give it to her because she squeals with such delight and she's flush against you in a way she never has been before and you can feel her bare skin on your back and you cannot control your heart as it races. Skips. Pounds in your ears as if she'd struck a match and you're consumed and engulfed and burning hotter than ever for her.

You've always been attracted to her, always loved the banter and the flirting and the way that she's smiled at you since that evening when she'd told you her name, drenched and grateful and so different than she has been since coming back into your life. 

But for as intrigued as she made you, you knew that falling in love with a woman like her would be too distracting, too overwhelming, and you've never outright given into the temptation, not like this. 

Because she's far too precious, far too lovely, and everything you touch falls apart and she's too important to risk. 

With each passing day she's disarmed you, made you desperate to keep her safe and to make her smile and to protect her. You never thought it could be more than just a silly attraction, but with her pressed against you like this you're not sure even someone as diligent and as determined as you could fight the feelings that are bubbling within you, constantly threatening to boil over and ruin everything.

She's breathing into your ear and the sweat clinging to your skin sends goosebumps everywhere and she squeezes her grip around your forearm and presses in tighter and you're not sure if she's figured out that you're maybe enjoying this more than you should be, or if it's still just about winning.

But you are and for you it's definitely not.

She relishes in the upper hand, you can feel as much as see her smug look in the reflection of the window and you want nothing more than to kiss it off her pretty face so you flex and arch and push back into her and she gasps loudly right into your ear, turning her face into your neck trying to hide because you can tell it wasn't intentional.

It actually being real sends a jolt of desire down your spine and you can feel every breath, every movement and you're still pressed against the glass, her weight heavy against you, and you decide if she's going to play this game, you're going to up the ante and make her very aware of what she's just done.

So you kick at one of her feet and free up your arm and turn yourself around with the momentum, but she surprises you and catches you and shoves you back hard against the glass and presses herself into you from the front, pinning both your wrists to the glass and you're stunned, again, winded and staring into her eyes, close enough that you'd barely need to lean forward in order to kiss her.

And if you were brave, if you didn't think it would set off a chain of events you'd be too weak to resist, you would.

----

Neither of you are really doing anything, staring into each other's eyes and breathing an embarrassingly expressive amount as you all but drown in the tension, relish in the closeness and the perfect way that she fits and molds to your body. In the gentle comfort you get from it, how effortless and safe it feels, and it scares you in a way that makes you question whether this is something that you could really want, could someday need, that she could be everything you've ever desired but never knew how to search for.

You blink back into reality quickly and start squirming against her, using your weight to try and knock her off balance and take back control, a control in which you're not even sure you want, which makes her eyes flash and her stop breathing; confused and conflicted and almost sad that you're ending it so soon because she's maybe enjoying it as much as you are.

"Let me go."

She shakes her head defiantly, a smirk drawing across her face because she's not interested in your opinion and pushes you back harder, keeping you in place, goading you to do something if you dare. You'd be lying if you said that you had any real intention of fighting back because you maybe have feelings and you're for sure experiencing all of them simultaneously and she's not giving up either and you wonder about the depth of them for both of you.

You tell her again, terse between your teeth this time, and she shakes her head, full of smiles and dark dilated pupils and she takes in a breath and traces your face with the softest, most fond look she's ever given you and swipes her thumbs over the skin of your goddamn pinned wrists and you melt. 

And then she's leaning in closer, mischievous look in her eyes that takes your breath away because you like being pushed around by her a little too much and she watches the movement of your throat as you gulp and there's a look of hunger in her eyes and it makes your stomach drop because you think she might have just bitten her lip but you were too focused on everything else, all of her skin pressed to yours, and your head falls back against the glass with a thud because you're not sure you're even conscious right now, and it's embarrassing.

But she's quick to fuss over you, quick to let go of one of your wrists and reach behind you to cup the back of your head and smooth over it gently, making sure you didn't hurt yourself because she cares. And it's soft and sweet and the whiplash of it all has your head spinning with more than just her proximity, and the smell of her perfume, and the feel of her body pressed to yours without the pretense of sparring anymore, without trying to disarm each other, and it's all just too much.

She blinks, brow furrowing as she allows herself to thoroughly fuss over you, focused on every emotion that passes through your eyes and offers you a pout because she's obviously never intended to cause you any real harm or pain, she just wanted to prove something to you, whatever that might be.

You're still just standing there, letting her keep you in place, even with a free hand and hers behind your head protecting you, looking at her, indulging in the closeness, in the happiness of seeing her actually succeed, even in little ways like this, catching you off guard enough to pin you twice.

You wonder if it was all just a game or if it's something that she wanted to do, if her breathing like this, matching yours, if the way she presses into you and watches you back means anything to her. If she wants this as badly as you do or if she's just playing her part and playing with you because she knows she can.

"Hi."

You tilt your head to the side, confused where she's going to take this, so you just flat out ask her. "What are you doing?"

She shrugs her shoulders, adorable with her body still pressed to yours and instead she's now linked your fingers together and she's holding your hand and it's all just very confusing. "Winning. It's called winning."

"Is that so?" 

The slow nod and equally cute blinks with her big brown eyes causes goosebumps to erupt across your skin again and you hope she doesn't notice because it's really all just too much and for all you do for it, your body is absolutely betraying you and you wish it would cut it out and calm down because you're making a fool out of yourself. "You could always fight back."

A challenge. "You don't think I'd win?"

She licks her lips, eyebrows raised. "I think you enjoy this kind of losing more."

You scoff. "You don't know anything."

"Oh?"

She takes a step in, mere centimeters from your face, body pressed so tightly to yours you don't dare move, squeezes your hand and draws her fingers down into the strands of your hair to the nape of your neck like she's about to pull , and you actually might lose your mind if she does it. You're discovering a lot of things about yourself in a very short span of time and you're not sure you can handle much more and also keep even the smallest semblance of composure you're already failing at.

Luckily you're able to keep yourself from gasping, but unluckily your eyes rise to her lips because her goddamn height has them in perfect view and it's just too much. Would be too easy. And then she's biting hers in a challenge and if you don't shut this down soon you're going to do something very unprofessional to shut her up once and for all.

"Tell me you're proud of me."

It takes a few blinks and a few breaths to realize what she's asking.

"Huh?"

"You heard me."

"That's not..."

"Come on, just say it."

"Ira."

She sticks out her bottom lip in the biggest pout you've ever seen from her and it's so close to your face and all your mind can think about is sucking it into your mouth and biting down yourself and giving into all the tension and all the flirting and all this control she thinks she has now. Because she does, and you're absolutely fine with it since she's enjoying herself.

"Please?"

And maybe she needs to hear it, needs the validation from you that she's doing well and meeting your, perhaps, unrealistic expectations, and if she's doing this even a little because you're asking it of her, to please you, you decide she deserves some genuine positive reinforcement.

You take a deep breath and let it out in frustration because you absolutely could get away from her if you wanted to. But there's not a single cell in your body that wants to, not when she's smiling like this and looking at you like you've painted the whole damn galaxy just for her, and you shake your head, your last remaining resolve crumbling as she bounces in place pleading with you to validate and praise her. And your eyes soften and your shoulders relax and you squeeze her hand back because she's so soft and you are proud. 

Sighing, you offer her the smile that she's been craving, a nod of approval that she always seeks, and if you read into the way her eyes are shining, you might just fall a little harder for her. You reach to brush a sweaty curl plastered to her temple away from her face to distract yourself, so she knows you're being genuine, that you mean every word and you offer her what she's been brave enough to ask you for. 

"I'm very proud of you."

"Aha! I knew it."

She always finds a way to make any moment silly and you're grateful because with her pressed so tightly to your body and her skin touching yours and her hand wrapped around your own, if you allowed yourself to indulge in the feelings of this, you'd have easily changed the trajectory of your relationship forever.

"Now get off me."

----

The first time you really notice the lines starting to blur is late one night a few weeks after you've been hired.

You're having trouble adjusting to being away from your home, away from the protections you'd put in place and the security and peace of mind they offer, and it's a constant frustration. 

Because you're famous for finding a solution to every problem and adjusting yourself effortlessly to every new environment, but apparently part of this job entails you spending the night far too often because Ira begs and for some reason you're still so unsettled and you haven't been able to figure out why. 

But she makes that face with those big eyes and pouts with her perfect smile and that gleeful childlike wonder that leaves you in awe of her and you can't help yourself. 

The answer is still a firm no most of the time because that's not really a thing, especially for a CEO, especially not for you, but she pulls at your arm and gets in your face and you can't handle it so you begrudgingly give in to her. You roll your eyes and heave a frustrated sigh and she does a little dance when she's won you over and you're (unfortunately) endeared.

And you hate it.

Except you don't, not even a little.

It's not an all the time thing, but the more it happens, the more comfortable being near her and being with her becomes and you find yourself staying there most of the time. After all, it's easier to keep her safe if she's not left alone to her own devices and when she feels safe enough to sleep again, you'd hardly be human if you could say no.

You tell yourself it's just for convenience, until you notice, far too late, that it's become something much more.

----

"What are you doing?"

It's late, nearly midnight and you've only just made it back to your house after one of the longest days you've had in a while when your phone buzzes on repeat in your pocket, not even twenty minutes after parting with her.

"Are you home yet?"

You have more responsibilities on top of being with Ira at her unending events, and you're honestly starting to feel the weight of them heavily on your shoulders.

"Did your mom leave you passive aggressive notes like you thought she would?"

It strikes you how familiar you've become with every second on the clock, mostly when the lack of time left to be surrounded by your own things and when your own space becomes more and more foreign. 

While hers has become more and more comfortable, the time passing absentmindedly, evident in the stack of mail weeks high on your kitchen counter.

There just isn't enough time.

Your life is now consumed by Ira.

Your mom has been by, paperwork that needs to be signed stuck all over your fridge with her opinions in bright red, and you roll your eyes because you don't have it in you to deal with anything she has left for you.

Because she thinks you're too attached to Ira and you've lost focus on your other duties as CEO now, and you'd even broken down and told Ira just how much it has started to weigh on you because you are not your mother and if at least one person understands that, the expectations feel a little less heavy.

She lives with the weight of her own too, so she gets it.

"Looking forward to a hot bath. Have you eaten?"

"Of course."

"A real meal, not noodles you didn't even wait to finish boiling to eat."

"Hey! I don't judge your food."

"You should really hire a personal chef. Someone as busy as you can't afford not to eat well."

You toss the angry red marked contracts onto the counter with the rest of the junk and plop down on the stool to focus more directly on Ira and her texts. Because that's who you are now.

"I don't like strange people in my house, I'll pass."

It's new, the constant communication, the way she tells you about her day, even if you were beside her the entire time. She wants to share her inner world with you, as much as you experience her outer world, and you think it makes everything easier for her to have one person that she can be fully honest and present with. 

Because, in an industry that pulls her in more directions and demands more of her than should be of someone so young and so kind, sometimes having a genuine safe space can change everything.

She offers anecdotes about her life pre-idoldom too, tells you millions of little things about her you'd never know unless she divulged them, and it's become comfortable; an easy friendship that has blossomed the more that you've allowed yourself to really listen and show up as more than just her shield between her and the world.

"I'm at your house all the time."

"Well yeah, but you're my..."

You all but drop the phone onto the tile as the "..." attempted response lingers, deliberate and endlessly flashing, letting you know she's been trying to answer her own question for over four minutes now.

You decide to push her and see what happens. "I'm what?"

"...you know."

"Do I?"

"🙄 Guess where I am right now?"

She's an expert deflector, skilled at twisting a conversation in the direction she wants it to go and it's an impressive talent that leaves you blinking your confusion more often than not because you're a terrible texter and even worse on the phone and she takes full advantage of it as often as she can. 

An affectionate smile spreads across your face at the banter, at her wanting your attention even though you've only just arrived home, and you feel even more confused by the sudden and intense wave of affection crashing into you.

Half the time you're just trying to keep up, with her a million words a minute, hands always animated in your space, always clinging to you. It all leaves you struggling to follow her because you're discovering how deeply you want every thought and every word and you're not sure why. 

Even if sometimes you're a little colder than you've intended with your frustrations, observant more than actionable when she seeks you out, and even while hiding back a smile because of how endeared you feel towards her, it's all there now, raw and ruminate and real.

How she could never be enough in a world where she's always felt too much.

"You're on the chaise watching your fish."

"Close, but no."

"Ira, I'm bad at guessing games, just tell me."

"You're no fun. I'm in the bathtub 🛀🫧"

It confuses you the way you close your eyes and envision the room, candlelit and cozy, her neck deep in the water, surrounded by bubbles and you... wishing you were there. Not... with her, but maybe relaxing in her dressing room, maybe reading, maybe listening to her tell stories, unburdening yourselves from the week, together. 

Laughing with her. 

And you startle at the way the possibility thrills you. 

Terrifies you.

You decide to join her, you'd been looking forward to this bath all day and there's something enticing about sharing something intimate, separately, that settles warm within your chest and beckons you under the warm water to melt away the day with her.

"I miss you."

You quickly type: 'We were together all day ', and then quickly erase it and instead give yourself a moment to let it settle how that makes you feel. 

Elated, actually, because she's slowly trusting you more and more, and it's taken effort but you've been trying to be more intentional with her, more understanding, offering her a space to be wholly herself without too much fussing.

And it's been easier, letting her lean on and need you, allowing you to fulfill your duties without as much protest or pushback, easily settling into a predictable routine that makes both of your jobs much more effortless. She's still a brat and still groans about it, but she always listens and always does her part so it's... better.

Because the rhythm you're building will help keep her safe and you more in tune with her needs and you feel like you're constantly chasing the thrill of her affection and the warmth of her smile.

You slip into your tub and allow the heat to penetrate your deeply aching muscles and your tired feet and you sigh into the glowing room, allowing your head to fall back over the curled porcelain that fits the contour of your neck perfectly.

Within moments you're lulled into an on and off sleep, cozy and quiet and still for the first time in what's felt like months of this whirlwind life of hers and you realize just how exhausted you are and allow yourself the comfort of this stillness.

The phone hasn't lit up in over half an hour, and while normally this wouldn't be anything to think twice about, she usually presses for your banter and your attention when she's been brave and allowed herself to be vulnerable with you. Always asking for more, always pushing you just past your comfort level.

"Are you okay?"

"..." the bubble appears and disappears and you sit up a little more straight, allowing the water to slosh and uncover you enough that the coolness of the room sends a chill all over your body.

You sink back down, a newly formed bubble of worry in your chest as your thoughts start to race and you begin to overthink and you check your phone a little too obsessively for someone who insists that nothing is happening and everything is fine and she probably just fell asleep.

But it's not like her, and you know she never has her ringer off, so your calls and texts are going through, and they would wake her up if everything was right. The glaring Read next to all your messages affects you more than it ever has in your life.

She never doesn't answer and you're not sure what to do with yourself.

It'd been a particularly hard show for her, she'd added three new songs and debuted a newly choreographed dance routine and it'd been a lot, taken a lot out of her, so you're sure she's exhausted. 

With her growing fame there's also been growing stressors, more issues and things going unpredictably array.

She'd made a spur of the moment decision to end the show differently halfway through, waded through the crowds as she sang her final song, a special tribute of gratitude that had you close to putting your foot down and demanding that she not. 

But she'd pouted and said it would mean everything to them and to her if you allowed this, had promised not to ask anything of you the rest of the week if you let it go and you'd acquiesced because telling her no has gotten more and more difficult as your bond has become stronger.

And you realize, rooted in your own diligence of the potential loss of her, just how profound your love might actually be.

That this exceeds duty and devotion and the synchrony and the push and pull of an idol and her bodyguard, that it might be so much more than you ever could have predicted, because you never have been able to or could ever have anticipated her.

----

You're dried off and dressed and out the door almost as quickly as if the whole place was on fire and you don't even have time to process why you're so anxious, why everything feels like the end of something, or maybe the beginning of something else, but it's the end thought that pushes your foot down on the accelerator a little more forcefully and shifts into gear more aggressively and you're there in unprecedented time.

You don't bother with the elevator, swiping your entry card and nodding to the guard stationed at the front desk. He doesn't seem too alarmed and you ask him whether anyone has gone up since Ira came home and he confirmed it's only been her and you sigh with relief because at least there's that.

She's obviously in the penthouse so it's a trek but you take the stairs two at a time as quickly as your legs can carry you because something must be wrong if she's stopped answering you and with everything that happened at her event, you don't want to leave anything to chance.

It takes you all of ten minutes and you're panting and even more sore than you were before you got into the bath and you're worried and a million thoughts race through your mind of what could have happened, where she could be, if she's safe or afraid, and it propels you up even faster.

You arrive at her door, still locked and secured and you swipe your keycard and scan your handprint, a feature you'd written into the contract for added security and you open the door silently, drawing your weapon and nudging in with your shoulder, using it for cover as you scan the room before entering fully.

The house is silent, most of the lights are off and you do a perimeter search for any intruders, which you find no evidence of there being.

You check upstairs first, hoping she had just gone to bed and forgot to wish you goodnight with her signature sunshine and white heart emojis. But she's not there and you head back downstairs, creeping and avoiding the left corner of the third step that creaks just enough under any weight to be annoying, but not enough to alert anyone of your presence.

And then you see her as you peer around the corner of the kitchen, phone screen left open, body draped over the end of the kitchen island, pink flushed cheeks and a soft smile that screams dreaming, and you long for her in a way you've never longed for another human in your life.

She must have fallen asleep there and you can't help but smile so fondly because she looks like an angel and you realize that you just booked it across town and all but broke into her apartment because... she fell asleep and... didn't wish you sweet dreams... and you're maybe mortified that you'd considered such a huge threat was even a possibility based on little to no actual factual evidence.

It worries you because it means you're attached, that you can't think straight without knowing she's safe every moment and it's in said moment that you realize whatever relationship you insist the two of you have, it's now grown into something else entirely. 

Because you're desperately in love with her.

You wake her with a soft voice and a hand tucking the hair away from her face and she blinks so many times you wonder if she's forgotten that she's even awake because as soon as she sees you she launches off her stool and throws herself into your arms and buries her face in your neck and holds on for dear life.

It's sweet and you're just so relieved that she's okay and you immediately break one of your rules and not only allow her embrace, but welcome it, curling around her body to hold as tightly as you can.

She smells like bath oils and bubbles and her hair has curled at the ends and is still damp but she's here and she's in your arms and she's beautiful and she's safe and your racing heart settles back into your chest and things feel right again.

"You're here!"

Everything in you cycles through your emotions more quickly than you can keep up with and then finally just aches for her because she's not hurt and nothing happened and she's stunning and soft in a loose, silk bathrobe and everything in you screams to wrap her up and hold her close and press a kiss to the crook of her neck like she's done to you, be near her, and never, ever let her go again. "Are you real?"

You sigh as she squirms in your arms, trying to crawl into your skin in that unabashed, just intoxicated enough to lack inhibition way. And she's beautiful and it's overwhelming, so you just nod with her mouth pressed lazily to your collarbone and she quickly squeezes you, clinging for dear life and buries her nose in your hair and inhales.

"I was having the worst dream."

If you turned your head just a fraction you'd be met with so much skin and her perfectly shaped mouth and you hold yourself back from throwing all your rules out the window and finally letting her take exactly what she needs from you and just existing presently in the moment with her. "But why are you here?"

"Your phone kept... you were typing and reading my messages and not answering me and I thought..."

She pulls back and looks you in the eyes, her droopy tipsy smirk drawn across her face and she tucks her fingers around the strap of your tanktop and plays with the fabric, allowing her knuckles and thumbs to trace every centimeter of skin they can reach.

"And you rushed all the way here because I... didn't answer your text?"

"Yes!"

It's an instinctual response and you can see it settle within her and you're maybe a little mortified so you quickly try and rationalize it, even though not a single thing you can think of actually makes it any less embarrassing.

"I mean... you never ignore messages and you were reading them and I thought something had happened and you weren't able to answer. I thought it was code! We really need to come up with a code."

"A text code?"

You let out a huff and plead with your eyes for her to let you off the hook because this has already spiraled into being embarrassing enough. "I really only came to make sure, just in case."

"That's... wildly adorable. I feel so important."

You sag in her arms, brows creasing because you were genuinely scared and the moment of vulnerability has deflated your sails in a way that reminds you exactly why you don't get attached to the people you work for. "Don't get used to it."

"Oh, I will absolutely love every second of this and you will not take a single one away from me. You're so sweet."

"Ira, it's serious, don't make fun, I was worried." You sigh and hope you can convey just how genuinely worried you were. "Please let me worry."

She shrugs, looking at the back of her hand, observing her nails in that bratty way she loves to do while pursing her lips. "You could just stay instead."

"Where?"

Her deadpan look makes you feel like you're being more dense than you should be. "Here, of course."

"With... you?"

"Generally that's how that goes when someone owns a home and invites you over, yes."

You're utterly floored at the suggestion and she's living for the reactions that must be crossing your face as you try and piece the puzzle together and understand what she's talking about.

"Your perplexed face is so cute!"

"It's not, please." You're pleading with her to show some mercy and let it go to spare you, but she's clearly not interested and keeps adding to it with every word.

"I love this so much. I won't take no for an answer, you're staying."

"I really shouldn't, I'm your bodyguard and you're my..."

She straightens up and cocks her head to the side, waiting. "Your what?"

"Uh--"

"Say it."

"No."

She crosses her arms and directs you with a pointed look that says you don't actually have a choice.

"Please? For me?"

You roll your eyes and she twirls her hair and you'd honestly thought you were stronger than this. But she loves this game, invented it herself, where if she's going to abide by your rules, she's going to trap you into admitting that even though you have stipulations, she's still...

"My boss."

You don't care even a little for the smirk or the fist pump as she finally gets her way. "Yes, your boss"

"But don't get--"

"Good..." she pauses, making eye contact with you, wide and nervous because she almost let something very deliberate slip out and scared herself. "Job."

"Good... job?"

She tried to say it, you think, merely as a joke, a pushed button, testing the waters, if her tiny dimpled smirk is any indication, to get a reaction from you by the way she's watching you so intently now.

It makes you take a second and blink in shock a few times from of the whiplash of your undefined and redefined roles in her life and you're left stunned because it made you feel... something. 

The potential. Her bravery. Her little changes in demeanor.

The usual banter and annoying brattiness from her suddenly being very less obnoxious and much more thrilling. 

You're not sure you've ever been told that before, the phrase she meant to say, and certainly not by a beautiful woman who also happens to be your client, that you ran all across town to check on because the notion of her not responding scared you more than you'd care to admit. 

You'd said it before, of course, but you've never heard it and it catches you off guard, flushes your whole body and she's living for it.

It's confusing, this newfound pull towards her that you don't know how to stop, that she seems to relish in, that you both desperately need to run away from and also lean into as if your very souls depend on it.

That you don't know how not to want.

That you know you could never actually have because there's no way you could ever keep her safe if you bring her into this life you have chosen for yourself and there's no way you could ever let anything happen to her just because you love her.

And because she's maybe everything you've ever dreamed of wrapped into the most incredible woman you've ever known.

"Yes, good job."

Your heart aches at finding and losing something you never knew you'd grow to need, but can never let yourself have.

"Hmm. Why're you down here anyway? Weren't you in the bath? You didn't tell me you were changing locations."

"Locations? From the bathroom to the kitchen? It's the same location." Her eyes are shining and you can tell she's desperately trying to hold back from laughing at how discombobulated you are with this whole conversation. "Why would I do that?" 

She chuckles fully, failing at keeping herself in check and quirks an eyebrow and looks at you with so much disbelieving affection it makes you squirm on the spot for how ridiculous hearing it out loud makes you feel.

"You... tell me everything, I just assumed since you told me you missed me that you would have told me when you got out of the tub, like you always do."

"So you remember that part, huh?"

"Well I also remember that psycho who shoved their camera in your face and lunged at you and how scared you looked and I was just... worried."

"You care about me."

"It's just work, it's not..."

She clasps her hands together in front of her in glee and you sag in defeat because she's never going to let this go. "Oh, it absolutely is. It's okay! I just got overheated from sitting in the tub too long..."

You squint at her. "And maybe also from the vodka."

"Right..."

"So I came down to get some water because you're always fussing me to drink more, and then I got hungry."

"And I'm sure you're still starving, aren't you?"

"Yeah, because making something seemed too daunting and I guess I just fell asleep when I sat down to text you for a bit. I'm so sorry for worrying you."

She's all but preening and grinning like a fool and the tiny ember sparking in your chest heats up just enough that you can feel the blush warm your ears and you hate yourself for not being able to keep your composure now that you know.

There'd been one person at the concert, if you can call them that, who shoved out from behind a barricade, desperately trying to get their hands on Ayla, screaming at her and crying to get closer and touch her and made a whole dramatic mess of a scene because of it. 

She'd been genuinely afraid, gasped and curled into your arms and you'd wrapped yours tightly around her and her fans had screamed with glee over the interaction, even though it was serious and you were terrified.

They do that now, every time your hand reaches for her waist, guides her by the small of her back, louder if you hold on, even more loudly if you adjust her outfit when she's too preoccupied to notice it's crept up. They scream when she reaches for you as she follows behind you, when she cozies up to you when she's a little nervous, or when you put your body between her and anything or anyone else. 

You've also somehow developed a 'secret' (loud) fanclub on the internet and she loves to show you what people are saying and the videos they make and the photos of the two of you they dissect. You think she likes that you've become part of all this too. The fame and the attention.

But mostly the attention for you being known only as hers.

She's even started to tease you alongside them, playing more into your presence and catching your eye while admiring your beauty; bragging when they get a little louder, certainly more excitable and engaged the more visible she makes you.

It's part of the job, part of the familiarity that comes with protecting someone with your life. 

Especially being and protecting a woman.

That part is easy, the exposure and the increased threats have not been, but it's your job and you make sure to do it better and better as the days progress. 

She deserves you at your best.

Ira says it's all normal and part of the gig, that some people will lose their humanity in the face of being starstruck over the idol they claim to adore, but you're not used to the attention and all it's done is make you more cautious and more hyper aware of every person she comes into contact with who could pose a threat. 

She loves it though and you love Ira so you play back sometimes because she likes the way you look together and likes you through the fan's eyes because at the end of the day you come home with her and she gets you all to herself in the ways that count.

But today she was hit in the face with a phone and then their knuckles as they tried to get footage that had to be blurry at best, certainly not worth the fuss, and you'd shoved them with your hand to their sternum and then shoulder checked them hard enough to knock them back when they pushed forward again and you had Ira out of the stadium before the person even hit the floor.

They say it's the cost of fame, justify their questionable behavior as something that's normal because it's 'what they signed up for' by being famous, as if idols aren't people too, as if they don't go home at the end of the day like the rest of us and want to live, without conditions and microscopes over their every move. 

Fans assume that their idols can't see how easily they disregard their respect for her in favor of their obsession. And from what you've seen, people give up their humanity by denying someone else's, and it's... not something you can wrap your head around. The hate people spread and the pain that they cause. 

You see it all first hand now, and if they only knew, the isolation, the worry; the fear that being followed and constantly watched can bring, you hope they'd have enough empathy and allow idols the dignity of life away from their celebrity. 

Of time, of places, of experiences, of their autonomy.

To breathe.  

It takes someone stronger than they could ever imagine to embrace them the way she does. It takes humility and respect and gratitude, a pure heart with immense capacity for love to see through the bad and allow the good to illuminate everything she does. To exist in the space beyond what is taken from her in order to achieve all that she has.

In the grand scheme of things, when Ayla's on the stage or winning awards or on the cover of magazines she appears larger than life, that there's more than enough of her to go around, but when she's just Ira she's something else entirely. 

Because she's everything and she's the softest soul you've ever met and you love her, the real her, with an intensity you've never known before. Not because she's an idol, but because she's Ira. 

They will never understand the difference.

Because she is not Ayla and she is not theirs and even if her heart is larger than anyone you've known, it doesn't deserve to be taken advantage of just for photos or clout or likes.

And you're not afraid to admit that you'd been pissed and she'd been humble and you genuinely cannot comprehend how someone like her could be so sweet to an individual who doesn't even see her as enough of a person to offer the dignity of personal space.

Not even enough to offer her any respect or decency or see her as anything more than property because they bought her gifts she didn't ask for, and it infuriates you, and she'd spent the better part of an hour in the car calming you down.

She's good at that, hand on your arm, soft eyes and her disarming smile as she speaks to you calmly and softly as if you're the most important person in her life and she really won't be able to go on if you're in prison and she needs you to be okay. 

And she's right, although she doesn't know you have enough contacts, and so does your mother, that that'd never happen. But it's sweet that she tries her hardest and you maybe don't hate that she babies you sometimes so you allow the affection and the redirect and grow more and more fond of her by the hour.

----

"So you're drunk?"

"Maybe just a little."

"Can you be a little drunk? Or are you just drunk?"

She pouts and huffs and you love her so much and you're in so much trouble because how can someone be so insufferably adorable and you be in the position where you're supposed to resist her. "I honestly don't differentiate usually?"

"Okay then let's talk about why you're a little drunk."

She's taken aback that you're asking. Most people see her as nothing more than fun , would see her a little tipsy and a little flirty and want to play or feed off her energy rather than worry what led her there and she studies you, swaying a little more deliberately into your space so you tighten your grip and her eyes flash and it's exactly what she wanted.

But you see her depth, the sadness behind her eyes, the gentleness that she always approaches you with and you wonder if anyone has ever taken her seriously her whole life.

"I wanted to have some fun."

You roll your eyes and step more into her bubble yourself this time, all but pressing your body to hers so she feels as much as knows that her words can't deflect and she can't disarm and you genuinely want to know why she drank alone tonight when she usually doesn't. 

Your fingers wrap around her elbow, brushing the baby soft skin at the inside with your thumb to soothe her, to let her know you're strong and here for her unwaveringly.

"By yourself?"

To show her it's you and you're here and she doesn't have to brush off her depth in order for you to stay.

"You're here now..."

"So was this a ploy for my attention?"

Your stomach drops at the realization that she could absolutely be playing on your instincts and your emotions and you try and take a step back, stiffen and hold your breath because if this is a game for her you really are foolish and you really need to get away before you make this a thousand times worse for both of you.

But this time she gasps and panics and holds onto you more tightly and the worried look in her eyes as she shakes her head tells you, at least this time, it genuinely had nothing to do with you.

"No! I swear it wasn't. Please don't leave?"

"Okay." Her panic is real and her eyes are starting to glisten and you step back where you were and her whole body relaxes again because you listened and adjusted back and accepted her answer and didn't punish her for it.

"I was... scared here alone."

"Why didn't you tell me? I could have..."

"Because you were scared today too and you said you were looking forward to going home, and this time I wanted to be strong for you."

And you had been, even admitted it in the darkness of the car just how exhausted you were, and it kills you that she'd mask her own pain to prioritize yours like this. 

You never thought your words carried much weight to her, not like this, and your stomach twists in knots that something you'd said offhandedly had made her stay alone and afraid while simultaneously seeking your comfort through the phone instead.

That she didn't feel like she could ask you.

If you'd have known you would have never gone home in the first place because yes it's part of the territory of being an idol, having your life and self invaded in the most uncomfortable way, but it also seems to affect her more than she's ever let on.

"It's my job, but you're you, of course when something beyond my control happens and you get hurt I get scared. I care about you."

It's vulnerable but true and lately you've taken it upon yourself, as part of the job, to be more honest about your experience because it seems to calm her when you do. She's more inclined to listen and trust and do as you wish if you can show her you're just as human as she is and that she doesn't have to go at it alone any longer.

She inhales and holds and searches your eyes. "I care about you too."

You nod once, offer her a soft curl to the corners of your mouth so she knows the moment is mutual but you're also not going to get lost in it enough to not press further. "Are you going to tell me what's actually wrong?"

She looks away, not with discomfort or shame but as if she's allowed the little bloom of intimacy, of caring, to take up space in her chest, like she wants to hold onto it forever, like she's happy.

"I had two drinks so I could forget and calm down after today and then I climbed into the bath. I was going to call you but--"

She looks down and you reach to tilt her head back up to look at you. "I wanted you to."

"You did?"

"I told you that we were in this together, that means all of it."

You reach to brush your left thumb gingerly under the small bump that the incident had left on her cheek and look up to meet her gaze and she's staring.

"Okay fine, I might have missed you too."

She starts to walk you backwards and you're too enthralled by the eye contact to realize that she's going to sit you down on her barstool until it hits the back of your thighs and you're suddenly sitting. She hasn't broken eye contact once and your heart is racing and you just allow her to do whatever it is she wants because she's on a mission.

You don't even register the fact that she's spread your legs with her palms and has cozied up tightly between your thighs and leaned in so closely you can barely breathe as she searches your eyes for something hidden. Maybe it's your humanity, your affection, or the sincerity behind your promise to stay, but you allow her to take what she needs because now you're here and she no longer needs to feel afraid.

"Wrap your hands around my waist."

And you do it, sliding your hands through the silk of her robe and press your fingertips into her skin as she arches into your touch.

You're not sure what's happening, not sure this is even appropriate, but if this is something she needs you're (mentally, hesitantly) inclined to allow her to lead and see where she takes you.

It shocks you how she's able to orchestrate a moment, how she puts you in place and holds you steady and calls every nerve and every thought to be attentive only to her and in this moment and nothing else matters, not your professionalism, not your doubts, as long as she's okay and cared for exactly how she asks to be.

"You've been on your feet all day."

You nod, dumbly.

"And you took such good care of me today."

You blink and hold your breath and nod because you had.

"You kept me so safe and I'm so glad you were beside me."

She leans forward and throws her arms around you and buries her face in the crook of your neck and clings to you so tightly you're not sure she'll ever be willing to let go.

Your hold had been loose, respectful, as professional as one could be with a half naked goddess in their arms, desperate to bring you as close into her body and space as she could. 

But you read her notes and pull her closer and reciprocate the intensity of her hold, press a quick kiss to her temple for emphasis before settling back into her arms and she sighs into your skin and you ache down to your toes at the sound of her letting go with you entirely.

"Thank you."

----

You've been having trouble sleeping.

Every time she has an event or a concert or somewhere she needs to go the insomnia hits you full force and the number of nights you stare at her ceiling and go through every possible thing that could go wrong has been increasing along with her popularity and it's miserable to worry this much.

You've never second guessed yourself, it's how you've gotten where you are, how you've been able to assemble such an elite team, how you've been able to become the best in the industry. You demand perfection, from yourself first and then from others, your extensive and impressive resume speaks for itself, and your team respects you and would go to the ends of the earth for you.

The same way you would now for her.

After a few hopeless hours you creep downstairs and decide that the one thing you can control is yourself. Being prepared and being in tune with your senses and in tune with the familiarity of the house.

And with her safe and secure and asleep in her room, it allows you the calm you need to practice. 

You bring out your equipment, close your eyes, take a deep breath, and begin your routine.

To hone one sense you must first remove another.

You pace the length of the main room, feeling the sweat from the glass on your fingertips, envision the layout of the city below in your mind, feel the tile beneath your toes, open yourself to the room itself as more details emerge. You notice the hum from the refrigerator to your right, the pumps and flowing water of her ridiculously large aquarium at the back of the hall, the air conditioner as it switches on and whirrs at the top of the staircase, all as you navigate the perimeter and sync yourself to your surroundings. 

If you can get through the house in complete darkness, complete silence, the chances of saving her are exponentially higher and it's crucial that you be able to get to her no matter the circumstances.

No matter the cost.

----

It's an hour into your routine and you've finally hit your stride, you've moved onto more strenuous martial arts and your heart rate is up and you feel locked in and good when there's a sudden shift in the energy of the house and you feel it instantly and your entire body freezes. 

Where the air feels different on your skin and a shot of adrenaline hits your system and you worry, an indication that you need to pay attention, need to be still enough that you can differentiate between your own body and a potential intruder's.

They always give themselves away if you're still long enough, no matter how skilled they are, and when you hear the echo of bare feet on the stairs you shake your head and breathe through your racing heart because it's Ira. 

You should have known she wouldn't be asleep either. 

You should have checked.

She's trying to be sneaky and watch you in the same ways that you allow yourself to watch her and you decide, with the loudest whispered shit you've ever heard, you'll pretend like you didn't hear her and give her a bit of a show, especially if she's going to make enough noise to get caught when you've spent countless hours training her to be silent when she moves.

You go through your motions and practice your skill reps again, go through your entire routine, fluid and conscious of the eyes that are indulging themselves as you flex a little more, bend more deeply, push yourself a little farther. Making sure to move around enough that she gets an eye full of you from whichever vantage point she's allowing herself to indulge from. 

It's not something you've ever been conscious of before, whose eyes were on you and whether or not you wanted them to be there in this sort of way, you've never particularly cared, but you feel hers deeply in your bones and it makes you feel alive.

There's not much more you can do this late, you've already done more than you intended so you roll up your mat and you wipe yourself down with a towel and watch the bustling city below as you take in as much water as you can to cool yourself down. Give yourself some time to draw out the tension building between you and her because you can feel that she wants you even from across the room and you want her to.

She's still somewhere behind you and you decide to tease her just a little.

"Couldn't sleep?"

She jumps when she hears your voice, as lost in watching you as you always are in her and her phone falls from her hands and lands on the floor with an echoing thud. You hear her rush down the stairs, letting out a loud sigh of relief that the screen isn't cracked, and then she's walking towards you, ready to come out of hiding and talk to you.

"I was afraid again."

You turn to face her, crossing your arms and waiting, a look of concern across your face because what could she have been afraid of? Is there something she hasn't told you? Has she been receiving threats again? 

Your mind starts to race and prepare and she can tell that she's caused you to worry, so she shuffles into your space and wraps her arms around your bicep, clinging to you in a way that she never really has before. Not like this.

Maybe trying to calm you down and reassure you as much as herself. 

Maybe she was genuinely afraid.

Her stiff posture gives her away and you can tell she's waiting for you to reject her, push her away and scold her for breaking the rules. And it does cross your mind because this is all entirely unprofessional, but so is being in her home late at night with her dressed like that and you allowing her to watch you work out like you had, so this time you allow the contact, even if you don't reciprocate

Because there are some lines you can't cross, not tonight.

This time you let her stay close without protest or disdain as she sighs, leaning over and resting her chin on your shoulder, clinging more tightly to you in such a soft and comfortable way, as if she's drawing her only sense of contentment by being near you.

"What's on your mind?"

The corner of her lips press down onto your shoulder as she lays her head there and you pretend not to notice, feigned indifference, and you can feel the smile form against your skin because she's never been indifferent about anything, and you roll your eyes and shake your head because she's winning you over little by little and she knows it.

But you don't push her away, not now, not when she's been brave enough to admit her fear and seek out your comfort. An acknowledgment that you really are her lifeline and that she really does need you and you allow your body to relax into her touch and wait for her to choose what she'll seek from you.

You both stand there watching the lights below in silence, her tracing the inside of your elbow with one of her thumbs and it all feels so... surreal. You're not a touchy person, you definitely don't like being hung all over, and never ever by a client, but you can't deny her this and you worry because if you allow yourself, you could learn to crave this in an all the time casual kind of way.

But this is not part of the job and she is far too close and you are allowing yourself to indulge far too often and you're not sure what's happening to you but it doesn't necessarily feel wrong.

She sighs and her hand tugs at your elbow because she clearly doesn't want to talk about it yet, clearly needs to move and change scenery and before you can even register it, she's dragging you into the kitchen hand in hand.

----

It's almost cute, her pulling out a stool at the island and guiding you to sit, her with her hair in a messy ponytail with fallen wisps framing her face after a long day, her in baggy sweatpants and a thin strappy top, her with that sad smile that makes you nervous and desperate to fix whatever is wrong. 

You watch her intently, waiting for an answer, waiting for her to tell you what your next move is, what you can do for her. What she needs.

It hits you like a ton of bricks as she's reaching to the top of the cabinet and it takes everything in you not to gasp, to remember how to even breathe, when her shirt rides up just enough that you catch sight of the dip of her lower back and the expanse of untouched skin, and the feeling in the pit of your stomach, the middle of your chest tightens and you're absolutely floored over feeling so much over something so simple.

You've seen her in various forms of undress since you've been staying here. She's not shy and she loves to tease you and see if she can catch you looking, try and make you blush, even though until now she never has. She walks around in nothing but a towel, the shortest shorts or the thinnest tops and if you weren't so disciplined in your reactions, you'd absolutely lose this little game she keeps playing.

But there's also something about her pulling down two mugs and her wordlessly making you sit so she can take care of you, can share something intimate like this with you late at night when you've both been awake and in your heads that makes you feel more at ease than you have in a long time. 

You feel happy.

Something about her deciding you can be awake and worried together now rather than alone speaks to you, and your heart aches to be closer to her. To trace that skin and take up the same space, have no space, and breathe her in. Push her against the island and give into all the flirting and all the touches and all the goddamn lines she tries on you that secretly drive you crazy.

She turns around with that smile and those eyes and she's showing you the mugs she's chosen and asking which is your favorite. They're colorfully ridiculous, classy, but nevertheless adorable and you shrug at them to try and cover your fondness for her and her gesture with a façade since it's clearly worked well thus far.

Because you've just realized you actually are in love with her, just like that, and it changes everything because you've tried just about everything not to be.

It's the deep breath with the roll of her eyes that tells you exactly what she's thinking without her having to say it because now she's pulling out every mug from her collection, all ten of them, and placing them on the island one by one in front of you. She keeps sighing in frustrated huffs and clicking her tongue and mumbling incoherently to herself because you're just looking at her, eyebrows raised, her hands on her hips and a curl to her lips as she tilts her chin in defiance and forces you to choose one.

Or else, she says.

So you offer a satisfied smile and choose the one she originally offered you and she throws her hands in the air and looks at you like you're the most ridiculous and annoying person she's ever met. And the fond satisfaction of getting her riled up bubbles in your chest and you do a little wiggle behind her back because you should get to have some fun at her expense too.

"Will you talk to me?"

She's caught off guard because you're usually more of a listener than seeking out her words, because there are a lot of them, all the time. Feelings too. Whether big or small she's going to talk about them, going to express them loudly, even if you definitely don't ask and even sometimes when she tries to hide them from you and then inevitably can't.

For as incredible an actress as she is, she's terrible at masking around you and it has nothing to do with your skills at reading people and bending them to your will, it's because she feels safe with you, which is not something you expected to happen in a real life intimate sort of way.

You give her a bit of distraction as you make your way over to her, indulging yourself by pressing your hand to her lower back as you walk behind her and she stands a little taller and presses into your hand and you can tell she isn't breathing from the contact and you wonder what it means. Because why?

"Breathe..."

The irony.

----

You don't tease her, don't make her feel anything negative about the way she feels, because you feel it just as intently and you want to give her the freedom and the safety to figure it out on her own without making her feel like there's anything wrong with it and with her.

With the nod of her head you offer a gentle squeeze to her elbow and begin putting the mugs back in the cabinet. She was sweet enough to allow you to pick one out so that you could have a favorite that's just for you and the gesture doesn't go unnoticed and you want her to know by contributing. 

She's trying to make this feel more like home, more like a space where you belong and you can share things with her when you're there and have things that can be your own too, and since you were stubborn enough to test her by refusing, the least you can do is clean them up.

"Promise you won't be mad?"

She takes your hum and then silence as confirmation to continue.

"I woke up and couldn't go back to sleep."

"And?"

You're standing at the end of the island now, marbled and polished and beautiful, perched on one of the stools with your chin resting on your thumbs, hands folded one on top of the other, trying to exude a casual calm that will disarm her. Still close enough where she feels safe being vulnerable but far enough that your heart maybe doesn't race as fast and she maybe remembers to breathe and you both maybe aren't this pathetic because you're too close to one another.

She flushes a little and turns to give herself a moment, fiddling with the water that's close to boiling on the stove.

"Please tell me what's wrong. I--"

You let out a determined breath and she side eyes you suspiciously.

"I'm here."

Her head hangs down almost immediately with a soft almost smile, maybe in embarrassment, maybe in shame maybe because you've never outright offered her any sort of emotional support like this and it hurts and you vow to make sure to ask more often.

"When I got to the stairs I saw your shadow."

Oh .

"But I didn't know it was you."

Oh.

It breaks your heart that you being in her space and taking liberties without asking her has caused her turmoil, that you made her feel unsafe in her own home. The reality of your situation hits you hard and you beat yourself up because it's your job to make her feel safe, to protect her, not to exacerbate her fear.

"I didn't mean to-- I was trying to be quiet I just--"

She's quick to keep you as far away from self-loathing as she can, rushes over to you leaving the pot unattended and reaches to swipe away your hands and tilt your chin with her finger, pulling you out of your head with a brilliant smile and the softest shake of her head. 

When you try to resist she fully grabs your chin and holds you firmly, forces you to make eye contact with her, because maybe she does know you and maybe she's just as invested in keeping you from feeling badly as you are for her. "Couldn't sleep?"

You know you should fight back, know you should pull away, know you shouldn't be encouraging this closeness with her, but you just can't stop yourself.

"Yes."

"Is it because of the event this week?"

"Yes." You nod fully, meeting her eyes in a way to offer her your most sincere truth because she deserves it. "I'm worried."

She looks at you pensively, as if admitting how you actually feel unguarded in the moment is a monumental shift in the way she sees you, in how she feels about you, in the safety of being vulnerable that you can now more deliberately begin to offer her.

Like you've unlocked a door for her to walk through that she's been trying to find a key for this whole time. 

And when she smiles at your admission you blush and you hate yourself a little bit because this is not you and nobody has ever affected you this much and she knows .

"About me?"

You shake your head animatedly no , playing with her and she pouts the biggest pout, always with the pouting, and turns with a dramatic flair and you absolutely melt as you reach for her before she can go and she shuffles away and you can't help the laugh that escapes as she shimmies her shoulders and smirks in celebration because she's made you happy.

"I worry about you constantly."

She's stunned. "Really?"

But this level of vulnerability with her makes you nervous and your defense mechanism kicks in and you open your mouth, immediately wishing you hadn't. "Of course, it's my job."

It was the wrong thing to say and the moment it leaves your mouth you know it because she deflates with a tense, clipped breath and can't even look at you. Two steps forward, one step back.

Because yes it is, but she doesn't need the reminder (even if you do).

"Okay."

You hate the sag of her posture and the disappointment radiating off of her and decide to be a little more forthcoming to try and fix it since she's allowing herself to be vulnerable with you, even if it makes you nervous and even if you're blurring the lines even more with whatever is happening between you tonight. 

But you also want to make it absolutely clear that even if you are worried it doesn't mean that she has anything to fear, so you motion for her to come closer to you, invite her into your space, offer yourself to comfort her. 

She's hesitant to accept, you can tell you've touched a nerve and you're sorry so you reach for her hand and place yours over top of it.

"There are just a lot of moving parts," because protecting her isn't easy and she knows it. "But my priority will always be keeping you safe, whether you pay me or not. I want to."

She nods, smiling just enough to know you've been forgiven but not enough for her to be happy again, and links your fingers together, squeezes them for good measure and sticks out her tongue when you sigh, shaking your head at her defiance. 

Because she always takes things one step further and it drives you crazy.

"Me worrying doesn't mean you need to worry though, okay?"

Your eyes lock and you try to offer her your utmost sincerity because it's true. You'd rather die than let anything happen to her. She soothes you with the gentle swipe of her thumb over the tops of your fingers and you watch because you can feel the gesture everywhere.

"I'm never afraid when you're beside me."

And she means it and you can't help but smile because there's nothing more important than that. 

Before she can say anything else, you both hear the hiss of the water on the stove as it boils over, the flame of the burner flashing from the water and she gasps and rushes to turn off the heat before it makes a mess.

She's hopping in place and throwing a towel at the pot trying to soak up some of the water before it goes everywhere and you absolutely burst out into laughter because she's in the most expensive and fancy kitchen, in sweatpants, making an absolute mess with water.

"You're really good at that, you know."

She turns sharply, full of pure unadulterated annoyance because she knows you're about to be obnoxious and make her mad but she can't resist because it's you . "At what?"

"Making messes."

"And you're good at pointing out the obvious instead of helping, so what?"

You shrug, because you know it'll drive her crazy. "Just saying."

"You could always help."

"I'm off duty."

She rolls her eyes, moving the pot to the counter to get it away from the heat. "I don't pay you enough to be on duty whenever I need you?"

"You could pay me more."

She shakes her head at your audacity. "You're the CEO of the company."

"Right, I'm wildly overqualified."

"And modest, clearly."

"Not getting your money's worth?"

"You're in my house at two in the morning, not helping or protecting me. I could be hurt!"

You look at her pointedly, hint of skepticism because she's the biggest faker you've ever met but you still want to make sure before you tease her further. "Are you?"

She nods emphatically and presses her hand to her heart feigning her pain with a dramatic pained pout. "Yes. In here." 

"There's training for that, you know."

"I train enough."

You roll your eyes and she tries to hold back a smile because you both know that's not true.

"Do you?" She sticks her tongue out and you raise your eyebrows in challenge. "Because if you actually did you'd have anticipated that the water was close to boiling over."

Her mouth falls open and her hands immediately are on her hips, flabbergasted that instead of coddling her you're pushing her buttons. "I didn't see you jumping up to stop it.

"Doesn't mean I didn't know it was about to happen."

She leans forward, both hands on the island, getting right up into your face, mere centimeters away, trying to be intimidating, challenging you. "You could have said something."

"You're right I could have."

She scoffs for the hundredth time and turns to busy her hands, pulling out ingredients to make you both some tea. "Fine!" And you can't help but smile at the ease of your banter, the fun of it too. 

She meets your eyes from the side, peeking to see if you're still engaged with her, paying attention to her, and wrinkles her nose in the cutest most frustrating way and when you don't look away, challenging her instead, she gets absolutely lost in the eye contact, loses herself completely in the moment.

You're aware enough to know if you hold it long enough, show no indication that she's affecting you she'll keep going, keep wanting, and you're right because she starts tracing the lines of your face over and over with her eyes, swallowing and breathing, and watching her lose it like this is exhilarating. 

She lands on your lips as she drags her teeth over the bottom of hers and you let your mouth fall open just enough to aid in whatever is going on in her brain, to fuel the fantasy just a little bit more, and she's definitely not realizing what she's doing, and when she snaps back into reality her eyes grow wide and she quickly turns away with a soft blush when you wink at her. 

And it's lovely because you both know it's all just added fuel for the tension that you both can't get enough of, that ultimately you really do care about her and she really is considerate and sweet to you and for some reason the two of you just work.

Being with her like this is fun.

She's meticulous in how she prepares your tea, remembering exactly how you like it even though you can't remember ever telling her and you wonder how observant she actually is, wonder just how much she knows about you, how much she sees and you make a note to be more diligent in the things you ask about her so you can offer her the same.

The mug is placed in front of you, not handed to you so it doesn't burn you, and the consideration has you beaming at her and she shrugs bashfully and all you can do is blink in awe of her, hope that you can convey your appreciation for her care. Because your job is to protect her but when you're alone, somehow in little ways day by day, she's started doing the same for you.

"Hey."

She eyes you sideways, suspiciously, the mug brought to her lips as she blows on the liquid to cool it down, mostly just giving her something to do with her hands while the two of you sit in comfortable silence, another aspect of your relationship that is hugely important and special.

For someone so over the top and full of brightness and energy every moment, the fact that when she's around you she's able to settle and be makes you feel like something in the universe has brought you together, that this is right and good. 

It's not often she becomes calmer, sits still, doesn't fill the room with music or noise or conversation, and it's not often you become less on edge, more content, less stoic, comfortable.

She makes you want to take care of her in a real way and never, ever stop.

"Careful, you'll burn your mouth."

When you give into her and soften for her, there are always moments, tense and thick with something that confuses you, where her eyes don't leave yours and her smiles are subtle and just for you and you can't help but smile back with one just for her and it's something. 

"Oh, you're right, thanks."

"Ira?"

She hums in acknowledgment as she takes a sip of the tea and hisses because it is, in fact, too hot, and it takes everything in you not to point it out so you just give her a pointed look and she rolls her eyes. 

"I'm sorry."

Her head falls to the side, confused over what you'd have to apologize for, but waits for you to open up to her as you shuffle the mug around between your hands, gathering the courage to confess your sincerity as she slides her mug by its handle across the island and settles herself down on the stool perpendicular to you and waits.

"For scaring you earlier."

She leans forward and places her hands on your wrist and you look up and finally meet her eyes, full of something that makes you want to tuck the hair behind her ear and kiss her nose and minute by minute this feels more overwhelming because there are so many things you need with her and it feels impossible to give into them.

"I should have told you that I've been having trouble sleeping and that I like to train when that happens."

You're painfully aware of your feelings, but you're deliberate in keeping yourself in check while you're both on edge from lack of sleep or stress, because she's still very unsafe in her world, and even more so in yours, and you're still there to protect her and it complicates everything .

"Can I hug you?"

She stands and holds her arms out and you recoil a little and blink back to reality as you put out your arms to keep her away. She tries to fight you, grabbing you and pulling you and trying to disarm you with moves you taught her and it's all just too much because she's cute and you can't resist because you want nothing more than for her to want that.

Because you do too.

"Please?"

She pouts and you roll your eyes and she's begging now, you cannot handle her soft na, and instead of waiting for you to give in like you always do, she takes her own liberties and fully throws herself at you to catch and wraps you up so tightly you can barely breathe. 

Loving her like this is effortless. 

Keeping yourself from falling irrevocably is the hardest thing you've ever had to do.

You've never experienced something like this, without conditions, without expectations, where she is naturally authentically herself with you and she makes you want to be better, warmer, share more of yourself for her.

Where you feel completely safe in this home that's not your own but still feels like it could be, with her, someday. 

And even out there, beside her too.

You've spent your life protecting others, made a career out of it, but you've never been willing to allow someone else to show up for you too. And she does, in her own little ways, the right ways, and you wonder if the softness in her was always meant to compliment the hardness in you and it makes your head spin, makes you worry, but most of all gives you hope.

She makes you think about the future, makes you want one, rather than being rigidly in the present because it's the only way to do your job as well as you do.

She makes you want to build a life outside of everything you've worked your whole life to accomplish and it scares you.

With an annoyed sigh you give in because it's late and you've both been vulnerable and you love her and you're tired of fighting, so you draw her in fully and wrap your arms around her as she buries her face in your neck and draws in a breath so deep you feel it in the pit of your stomach and it's good.

----

Ira doesn't know how to feed herself, not really, and it's one of those things that should be frustrating but that you actually find quite endearing because she's capable of so many extraordinary things, talented beyond measure, but something as simple as making herself dinner is a challenge.

She tries, all the time, bakes little treats for you, with you, tries to have some semblance of dinner waiting for you on the nights when you're staying over and come home late. And it's cute, her wanting to care for you, her wanting to nourish you, her wanting to offer you something as gratitude for being willing to stay there with her. 

It's not lost on you that it's starting to feel more and more like home wherever she is.

And when it doesn't terrify you, it feels so monumentally important.

It's starting to feel much more real than you'd ever intended, but you don't have it in you to fight it anymore. All you can do is keep your apprehension and your worry and the way your mind races in fear and conflict all the time to yourself because it feels too inevitable to keep away from her. You'd rather suffer in silence than burden her with your feelings.

Being in the kitchen together has kind of become your thing and you gravitate there whenever you need to connect.

Her food is never inedible, but you definitely have to wonder how in the hell someone can mess up various forms of noodles and more often than not you end up helping her because it takes her far too long and by the time you walk in the door she's made an absolute mess of the kitchen. You're always willing to clean it up afterwards, but there's never much to show for her effort, so if you want to actually eat with her you kind of have to help.

And the look of relief on her face is adorable when you do and she ends up perching on a stool next to you with a glass of wine and her endless conversation and banter and it's endearing, her making such a concerted effort to try and care for you, get to know you, even if her plans always find a way to go awry and you end up cleaning up way more of a mess than if she'd just waited for you.

----

She'd had a full day of events, two more than you would have been able to handle yourself, and as soon as you'd brought her home she'd hugged you, all but collapsing into your arms, and told you that you didn't need to stay because you'd had a long day too and she wanted you to get good rest in your own bed.

As if your day could ever compare to hers.

It was sweet of her and you'd of course protested, but she said you might as well because she was going upstairs to promptly pass out until the next day, punctuating it with the biggest, cutest yawn you've ever seen. But you know her, so you followed her to her room, given her space to change for bed, and tucked her in, switching off the light with a smile as she snuggled down into her pillows.

As you were about to close her door she called out to you in the sweetest voice you've ever heard and asked if you'd be willing to sit with her for a few minutes until she fell asleep. It sends a jolt of worry to the pit of your stomach because that's entirely too intimate, and bordering on territory you're not sure you could come back from if it's something she got too comfortable with and asked for again.

But she's exhausted and you did have to protect her at the airport far too early in the morning for that sort of ridiculousness and those sorts of crowds, and when she's genuinely exhausted and struggling and asks you for comfort, or a sense of stability and safety, you have a very hard time saying no. Because you're human and she's a pouter and the two of those things in conjunction never work out well in your favor.

So you sit in the chair across from her bed, arms crossed, back stiff and she gives you a look so you move to sit on the end of the bed, to which you receive another look so you huff and roll your eyes and prop yourself up at the head of the bed next to her, crossing your arms again to let her know you're doing this under (fake) duress and she grins from ear to ear and snuggles down into her covers and her twenty pillows and sighs with a contentment you wish you could offer her every second for the rest of her life.

You expect her to be asleep the second the lights turn off, the gentle warm foggy glow from the oil diffuser making her look like a goddamn angel, but instead she tells you how grateful she is for all that you did for her. That she never worried or felt unsafe and asks you all kinds of technical questions about the security detail, about how your world works to support hers, and the intricacies of how you take care of her, what the experience was like for you.

Because she'd been terrified and you'd stepped in immediately without hesitation and that level of bravery baffles her. But in the same way you couldn't get up on stage in front of thousands of people and sing and dance, the yin and yang of the level of expertise for both of you to perform at such a high level brings a sense of camaraderie that you haven't felt with anyone else.

It's certainly not something anyone you've protected before has asked, nobody had really cared about your side of things as long as they were safe and the situations were handled and they'd gotten their money's worth from your services, but she's different. She cares about your well being and how much danger you're putting yourself in for her and she genuinely wants to invest in all the ways that you're able to keep her safe to make sure that you're also safe.

And it's sweet, her care, her interest, her worry and fussing over you, but you also know her well enough now to notice her droopy eyes and her soft contented smile and tiny squeaks behind her soft sighs because she's happy and fighting falling asleep to spend more time with you like this. 

You catch on fairly quickly that what's asking without words is for you to, essentially, read her a bedtime story, except about something you're passionate about so you'll keep talking until she falls asleep, so you'll stay. She works you the way she works a room and there's something about the intimacy of having it one on one that gives you butterflies because nobody has her this way but you.

So you stay and talk, leaving out the parts that might give her bad dreams, telling her all the good parts of your job, like watching her, getting to see how talented she is from up close, watching how she moves a crowd and charms everyone she meets. And when you know she's asleep by the way her face softens and her skin looks extra tenfold soft, you tell her how much she's charmed you too. How proud you are of her. How in awe you are in the ways she handles and carries herself. All the little things that say I love you , without actually saying the words.

You watch her for the better part of an hour, rubbing soothing lines down her arm with your index finger as you scroll on your phone, wishing desperately you could wrap your arms around her and tuck your chin into the crook of her neck and hold her so close. But you can't. Because this is still your job and even in the closeness that has grown rapidly between you, giving into your feelings and asking for that love to be reciprocated is still much too great of a risk.

The way to keep her safest is to keep your love for her hidden, expressed only in minute gestures and giving into her only when she asks because giving into any of your own desires would only result in potential disaster. Because you'd become insatiable in your need for her. Jealous of the eyes on her, of the strangers that believe with their full chests that they know her, when nobody really can, not really.

Because she'd be yours and that would be even more of a privilege than you're already given.

She sighs in her sleep and reaches for you, throwing her arm over your lap the second you stop talking and you freeze, not sure what to do, not sure how to get away from her without waking her up, not wanting to end this closeness anytime soon either. But you also know when she wakes up she'll be starving and after the day she had she deserves a home cooked meal to heat up, with or without you there to serve it to her.

You like that the kitchen has become somewhat of a sanctuary for the two of you. Where you both can let go of pretenses and talk and laugh and enjoy each other's company as more than just her bodyguard and your idol. As something akin to friends. Because in the dining room you teach her how to defend herself, and you sit on the stairs and watch her hone her talents, but in the kitchen you both get to unwind and be creative together as equals.

Half an hour more passes with you scrolling on your phone and the weight of her arm finally sags enough against you to tell you that she's in a deep enough sleep for you to move it, so you do, carefully, swapping your body out for a pillow that she can cling to instead as you round the bed and stand over her, leaning to indulge yourself and press a ghost of a kiss to her temple, barely lingering enough that she could notice, but just enough to express the emotions that swell in your chest, even for just a fraction of a second.

----

You make your way to the kitchen and dig through her pantry and fridge, seeing what she's gotten from the store from the last time the two of you cooked together after you'd given her a list of staples that were must-haves to always keep on hand. She'd been excited to purchase everything, held the list you'd written to her chest and bounced around excitedly as if it were a precious gift that she'd cherish forever.

Everything she does is so endearing and it's infuriating sometimes.

She had in fact gotten groceries and you're proud, but you're also tired too so you opt for something simple, shrimp fried rice because you can make it in your sleep and it'll fill her belly and taste just as good, if not better, warmed up.

You leave her foolproof instructions and write her a sweet little note telling her that she did amazing all day and that you're proud of her to wake up to and then tell her to text you when she does and then get started on the dishes so that she has a clean kitchen too.

There are two dishes left when you hear her shuffling around the house like a toddler, probably wrapped in a blanket and rubbing at her eyes as she adjusts to the overhead lights. She never picks up her feet in the house and it's so damn cute you smile like a fool because with every interaction you might just love her even more. 

She's incredible on her feet, a skilled dancer, larger than life up on that stage and around her fans, but when she's at home, especially with you, she just wants to be tiny and cozy and she's an expert at it and it warms your heart.

You can always hear her before you see her and you grab a glass for her and make her some water because she sleeps like the dead when she can finally fall and you're sure she's probably dehydrated. 

When she finally makes her appearance and flops down onto a stool, you shove it into her hands and instruct her to drink. Which she does, rolling her eyes until they're crossed and keeping them like that in her trademark goofy protest and once she's finished she points to the bottle of wine next to you and you begrudgingly pour her some, to which she grabs the whole bottle for herself and tops off your glass instead.

"It smells amazing in here."

"I made you dinner."

She can't hide her delight as she looks from surface to surface trying to figure out what you made for her. "Didn't I send you home?"

You smirk, raising your eyebrows in challenge. "I can go now if you'd prefer to finish on your own."

She's quick to her feet, grabbing your arms and holding them to your body in protest so you can't go anywhere, chin on your shoulder, breath on your cheek. "I already woke up and you were gone once, please don't leave again."

You try to shrug out of her hold, with no real actual effort because she's close and she's warm and she's holding you, but you know she likes it when you try and get away because she thinks she can stop you and always wants to try. 'You were drooling."

She gasps and digs her nails into your stomach a little. "I was not! I don't do that."

"If you say so."

"So, you were making me dinner?"

It's a deflection, always and you run with it because you can see a flicker of u ease behind her eyes. "Yes."

"That's sweet of you."

You fight to contain your blush, fight to contain her fondness for you because you did something exactly right. "I was going to leave it in the fridge since you kicked me out of the house once already."

She lets go and your body sags without her holding you up and she opens the fridge, taking out the containers and sneakily reading the note, pressing it to her chest in fondness, thinking you couldn't see. "I just didn't think you'd want to stay."

"Did you want me to?"

Her eye contact is deliberate and held and she's trying to convey her utmost sincerity so you listen. "I always want you to."

"So why didn't you just say that?"

You're genuinely asking because of course you would have stayed, probably would have crashed upstairs or on the couch anyway because you are exhausted, but you want to know why she was afraid to ask or tell you that's something she wants in a not just convenient way.

"Because you put yourself in harm's way for me this morning and I didn't want to ask anything more of you."

The sigh comes out of you more forcefully than you'd anticipated and she'd recoiled a bit because she thought you were mad at her for it. You offer her soft eyes and a soft smile when she makes eye contact with you so she knows you mean it. "That's part of my job," you're quick to predict the sadness that'll cross her face and make sure to remedy the distinction so she understands. "Being here with you is my pleasure."

She perks up immediately, a bright smile on full display because this time you said the exact right thing. "Really?"

"Didn't you know?"

"You always say you have trouble sleeping."

She's right, you do. But there's also a peace that overcomes you when you're only a floor away from her, the first line of defense between the entrances and her on the floor above you. "Buy me the same bed that's at my place.

"You have more money than me."

"How do you know that?"

"I know things. Buy it yourself, it's your room now."

"Awfully bossy for someone that just woke up to a warm, home-cooked meal."

"Am I not your boss?"

"I'm a lot of people's boss and I would never have any of them in my kitchen making them food while I'm asleep upstairs."

"So you're saying I'm your exception."

"I'm saying you're spoiled and you should change the subject."

"I really don't think I'm going to." She stands and makes her way over to you, wrapping you up from behind again, resting her chin on your shoulder and she presses her cheek to yours, skin to skin and snuggles into your neck. "But I'll give you a hug to show my gratitude."

"What about me says to you that a hug would be even remotely the same?"

"Because you always blush when I do it."

"I absolutely do not."

"Shall I find you a mirror?"

You try really hard to get out of her grasp this time because the more she does this the harder it becomes for you to not stay forever, and the way her body is moving against you as she laughs is not helping and you're overwhelmed by her, the soft sleepy smell of her skin, her freshly showered hair and her very expensive skin care products. 

She's fragrant and they all hit you at once and the coziness of the domesticity of her makes your heart race and you crave so desperately you duck out of her grasp and put as much a space between you as you can get.

"Aw, don't sulk, I'm so so grateful you stayed and I could wake up and you're still here. And I'm especially grateful that you're cooking one of my favorite things because I'm absolutely starving."

"I had a feeling."

She smiles as she opens the storage container and smells her food and thanks you again, rushing at you to press a kiss to your cheek and you blush and she smirks and you plop down on the stool and shake your head because you are in so much trouble.

----

You've had to force her into training more often now. Ever since your late night chats in the kitchen she's been especially full of herself, pushing your buttons even more than usual and pushing back even harder when you try to tell her what you need from her that's not... alone-in-her-kitchen-cozy-confession esque. 

The things you need her to do to keep her safe barely interest her, because in a moment of weakness you gave in and now she knows she has even a little wiggle room of control and she uses it to her advantage every opportunity she can.

But you're insistent that it's even more important now as her fame is quickly growing and the demand for her is even higher and she eventually relents with a dramatic fine and you smirk at her, satisfied in having the upper hand because it happens less and less as every day passes.

Because she's got those brilliantly bright brown eyes and knows how to use them against you.

You leave her at home after a brunch date with some of her friends, making sure to tell her to stay put for once because you have protocol and safety meetings with prospective venues and you do have plenty of work that doesn't involve being at her beck and call. 

She scoffed and rolled her eyes and told you that she doesn't pay you to fuss at her every moment of the day or tell her what to do and you tell her that's exactly what she pays you for and you'd happily provide someone else if she'd rather.

You know it makes her furious when you offer some of your other employees because she wants you, and she shoves at you and frowns and tells you absolutely not and climbs out of your car without even a look back and you allow yourself to laugh at how ridiculous she is.

It's not often you use that threat against her because you're worried one day she'll outright fire you, and you're invested in her safety enough now that you wouldn't trust anyone else to keep her alive, but it's one of the only ways you've found to get her to listen. 

So instead you casually push the only other button you know will make her fussy and cute and you tell her you'll only come by or only stay the night if she's ready to put in the work when you arrive and she relents every time.

----

When you get to her house later that day she's not dressed for a lesson and has changed into another outfit you've never seen before, her hair falling over her shoulders in long, soft waves that make your heart race. She looks so beautiful you can barely keep your eyes to yourself. 

And you're quite annoyed with her for being unprepared and for trying to fluster you instead, so you make her train as is, full glam and all.

You place the vip rule book on top of her head for good measure, making her hold her arms out, testing her balance, testing her endurance and when you get into her space to make sure she hasn't found a way to cheat, you thoroughly examine her, asserting your authority in one of the few ways you still can, trying to get her to listen to you. 

But she's quickly sticking out her tongue and it's a challenge you don't intend to lose this time so you turn to walk away to hide your affection, the small ways she's broken down your walls and made you feel her, because you also know if you do she'll chase you.

Perfectly predictable.

She quickly grabs your shoulder to bring you back to her and laughs so fully it rings in your ears like a hymn as you turn her and lock her shoulder and she enjoys it a little much and it makes you more determined than ever because you feel it too. She grabs for you and your heart is racing because she looks happy and you had a part in that and it takes everything in you not to kiss her right on the spot.

You're pushing her through the motions of self-defense in the little ways you can, in moments like this, subtly enough where she doesn't fully notice that it's happening. Because she won't do it if it's required but she will if it's flirting, and you know her well enough now that it's easy to trick her into it, even if you both know exactly what you're doing. 

Because you enjoy it too. 

She likes to make a big production of you making her 'follow the rules' because 'rules are meant to be broken' and it's all a game to her, but her in your world like this, enjoying it and enjoying you makes you feel... everything.

It escalates quickly, it always does when she gets the upper hand and you're weak to resist, when you're weak to dim the glow of your pride in her and she can't hide her excitement in herself for winning. She's got her hands around your neck and your thoughts are racing because she's not submitting and it's exhilarating and neither of you are really breathing, the tension taut and delicious, but things halt quickly as somehow in trying to get away from her hold she slices your cheek with her nail.

Within an instant she's caressing the wound with such tenderness, begins to whimper and whine and cry so earnestly and you're floored by her sincerity, by the implications, by her.

It's a scratch, barely anything, but to her she may as well have broken every bone in your body, and to be seen in such a way, as that precious to someone... it makes the love for her you've been trying to deny rush from your heart and warm your whole body and you ache with the loneliness of loving someone who should never have to be at risk for loving you back.

You're not sure you've ever been seen, ever been acknowledged for more than your abilities, for more than your protection, your beauty even, but she's looking at you as someone she cannot lose, as someone she could never harm, would never want to be harmed, and being seen through the walls you project and the title and vocation you hide behind... makes everything inside your body relax and you crave the way she loves you. Crave her.

You're not sure there's ever been anyone for you but her.

And it's... too much. 

The crying. Her hurting. Being seen. Being cared for. 

The unraveling.

It's excruciating, hiding from this, loving her in silence, at a distance, when she's just here, in front of you, caring for you. When she's so affected by the idea of your pain and the words catch and burn in your throat as you try and keep them at bay because this cannot happen and you cannot burden her with this life you live when the cost of loving you is far too great a price for her to ever have to pay.

I love you.

It pounds in your ears and almost chokes you because you just want her sadness and her worry to go away but the only way is to wrap her up and make her feel safe; run your fingers through her hair and tell her a thousand times more that it'll be okay and you're okay and she's not the cause of any of your pain.

You've wanted to tell her for so long, but she's an idol and she has a whole life, a whole world where you exist as nothing more than a shield, a perched watchful eye desperate for her to look your way and see you. Even when she does.

But that is not the job and you will not become one of those fans of hers and you've broken so many of your rules for her already and neither of you can afford any of this when her life is on the line every second and you worry that you won't be enough to protect her.

It's easier to deny when she's not standing here like this, pouring her emotion and affection and care into you because suddenly she does see you and it's absolutely overwhelming, not being in control, wanting to give her every ounce of it just so she'll stop hurting, stop crying. 

So you can stop wanting.

All it would take is a kiss. A confession.

Your heart is racing as you watch her, feel her, crave her so hopelessly and you're in awe of her, cannot believe she's real and looking at you like you're every precious star in the sky and you're not sure you've ever needed to kiss someone, hold someone, be seen by someone every moment from now on so desperately.

But you're her bodyguard and she somehow has more enemies than you can count and if all you're able to do is channel your feelings into keeping every one of them from harming her, you'll do it for the rest of your life. 

Suffer for it. 

Will gladly give yours if it means she'll still be able to light up the world with that smile and those warm eyes and the vastness of the love and kindness she has to share with people she's never even met.

You're standing inches from her and you wonder if she knows, if she can hear your heartbeat as her hand reaches to grasp at your wrist too, stepping even closer, and if you don't stop this you'll lean in and kiss her or... confess everything and that simply will not do and it's simply against your code.

Rule number one, don't fall in love with your client.

You've already broken it.

And with her especially... a relationship cannot happen, things cannot escalate further than what they already have and this isn't right and you'll end up breaking her if you let this love escape from where it threatens to spill over every second you're with her.

You have to be better than these feelings and stronger than this desire and fight for a world where she can be safe and happy and all of it seems so daunting when all you want to do is pull her into your arms and love her.

You take a moment to relish in the way she's fussing over you though, because you're only human and she's Ira. The way she says your name and apologizes so profusely, as if her life depends on it. The way time seems to stop and your heartbeat is thick in your ears and she's crying as if her entire world has just ended in causing you pain. 

And maybe you indulge in the feeling of being hers, hers in a real way, for just for a moment because it feels so real. She's standing right there and crying for you and it's the most genuine display of emotion and gentleness you've ever witnessed.

But it's too much. You love her too much.

So you tell her to stop, breathless as it staggers its way out of your mouth because you can't believe you're doing this, to both of you, even if you don't want it. And your heart shatters in the way she pulls away as if you'd burned her, respectful of your consent and your fear and all you can think of is that she doesn't deserve any of this.

You do the only thing you can, that you've always been best at, you push her away. 

She acknowledges your right to say no, even though you can tell she hates it, even if she basically calls you a liar and fights with herself to fight you back and challenge why. So she asks you to clarify, asks you to tell her the truth if you're suddenly going to stop all the things that you've both grown so comfortable in. But you can't answer, because it'd all be a lie, because you want her, want this, want her in a forever sort of way and you can't even meet her eyes, breaking contact with her in your own self-loathing.

Because you have a secret, that she's maybe everything to you in a very short amount of time and if you tell her, you don't know what might happen.

And she's just here in front of you, hurting, and instead of trying for more, to push your buttons like she always does, she sags in defeat, a newly formed sob of your doing escapes her mouth and she runs from the house, tears streaming down her cheeks and sobs tearing from her lungs and you're devastated.

You give her a moment, and then follow after her into the shadows, give her enough distance and space so she doesn't have to see you, and allow yourself to crumble under the weight of what you've just done to her.

She heads to the rooftop, which is far from secure. The rule is she must always allow you to enter an open space before she goes anywhere and the casual way she ignores your demands even now, even with your repeated frustration ringing in her ears to wait, makes you desperate to follow her, to get to her. 

To explain.

Because what if she gets hurt, and what if she's taken, or worse, what if the last thing she hears from you is that the two of you can never be, that the love you feel but cannot share is wrong, when she didn't even ask in the first place.

It's too overwhelming and you're rushing up the stairs behind her two at a time and you have to get to her, have to make sure she's safe, have to tell her how much you love her. 

If there's one lesson she takes from all this, it's that you will give your life for hers unwaveringly and above all else you need her to trust that. Because even this second of separation, where your eyes can't see her and your heart cannot find her, has your own tears burning at your eyes and you sprint.

You're going to tell her. You're going to protect her. You're going to love her in the open for everyone to see. 

You have to if it's the last thing you do.

You can hardly breathe with the nerves of it all. Of losing her. Of hurting her. Of messing everything up. But the pain in her eyes when you'd told her to stop, the way she curled in on herself but still cared enough to ask questions trying to understand you, caused a twist in your stomach more painful than any punch or stab or shot ever could and you knew loving her from afar like this would never be enough, could never be, and you regretted it the moment it left your mouth.

The last thing you ever wanted was for her to stop. 

Because she sings and your soul no longer is your own, it reaches for her. She touches you and your body belongs to her, it moves to her. She asks you why and your thoughts are only of her. She pulls away and there's nothing in your being anymore that can exist without her.

It's always only been her.

And that's why you follow.

Because she's it, and you've never been more sure.

----

She's crying, the wind throwing her hair and you ache to tuck it behind her ears and shield her from the elements, especially exposed like this, and you worry endlessly. About the height, about her being near the edge in such turmoil, at clearly being the reason for her unraveling.

But she's beautiful when she's a little out of control and a little emotionally explosive, and she's always said she's felt like she's too much, like she's too unstable to offer anyone anything but entertainment. That nobody has ever wanted real, but you've seen through that, through her walls, through to her insecurities, in the ways she makes herself small away from her fans and from the cameras. 

You've witnessed first hand that she's desperate to be chosen, not as idol Ayla, but as... just Ira.

And suddenly she's yelling that she's loved you since the day she met you, and you can't do anything but stand there and worry and let her let everything she's feeling out, until she claims you've never loved her at all, not for a single day, and it's all just too much because how could she not know? 

How could she think that in the hours you've spent training and the endless meals you've prepared for her and the late night stories in her bed as you talk her to sleep, that you didn't love her through it? That you didn't love her wrapped in the hugs that lasted a little too long and the touches that linger endlessly like both your lives depend upon it. 

How could she ever think you didn't love her with the longing, desperate looks back to her, full of endearment and awe when she sings to you, dances with you, when she picks you out of a crowd of people screaming for her like you're her lifeline and your heart races just for her.

In the way that you'd die for her. 

How could she not know that you're undeniably in love with her?

How could you have not shown her well enough?

----

You've wanted to do this since you first saw her look up at you, drenched from the rain with her big glasses and an even bigger smile. 

You've wanted to do it with every push and pull of banter and every time she reached for you, looked for you, called out to you. You realize now that you've been holding your breath since the day you met her, waiting for the moment when she'd steal it from your lungs and breathe life back into you in a way only she could. With all the opportunities and all the demands and all the ways you've shown her that this is more than just a job for you.

And now here she is, on this rooftop, crying and confessing and begging with her eyes to please just love her back, and the only thing that makes sense is to step into her space and show her just how much you always have. 

So you reach for her and press your lips to hers and your heart settles safely into your chest in a way only being close to her has allowed, and when you pull back, breathless and desperate for more, you can't help but speak your truth in case it's the last thing you'll ever get to say before she pushes you away and you'll never get the chance.

"Is it too late for me to tell you I love you?"

Because you do.

And you hope desperately it's not.

She's in disbelief and bewildered and gasps and nods and starts to cry again, and the only thing you can think to do is smile because she's breathtaking and because you've waited for years to do this and her lips pressed to yours felt like the first rays of sunrise as they meet your skin and you lean in again to prove your point, to show her it's not fleeting and it wasn't just because. 

But you wait for her this time, flex your fingers against her waist to encourage her, swipe your thumb across the hollow of her ear and dig your nails a little into her scalp and stop just before your lips touch, so she can decide, consent, agree to take this leap forward with you, to want you back.

And then she does and it's exhilarating and you can't get enough and you're kissing and moving together with such fluidity it's as if you've done this a thousand times before. Because in your mind and in your heart you have; every time she's gotten a little too close or cried tears a little too real or held onto you a little too tightly.

She kisses you breathless, like both your lives depend on it, like life itself begins and ends with her lips pressed to yours until the both of you are wrapped in the wind's embrace so tightly that she can't contain her shivers and she clings to you trying to pull any ounce of warmth she can get from your body. 

You're lost in this, lost in her when her lips begin to tremble and you reluctantly snap back into reality because, just as you expected, giving in felt right, so right that you forgot your head and lost yourself in the push and pull of finally being able to do this with her. 

And it felt like your whole life led you to this moment, to her, to this rooftop, and you're grateful for her bravery, for the way she pushed back, for the way she stood firm when you cowered and tried to pull away.

You reluctantly break the kiss, desperate for it to never end, while knowing logically there are far safer places and definitely things you both need to say before things go further, and before you know it you're wrapping her in your arms and running your fingers through her hair and grinning like an idiot because you finally did it and she finally knows.

And now she doesn't have to fear or guess and it's out in the open and wherever that leads you, whatever obstacles you have to endure, she's undoubtedly worth every single one.

Beyond that you can't wait to find out.

You're hugging her and holding her close and you can't stop the damn grin that's spread fully across your face because you've both finally, finally managed to get yourselves here after denying yourself the simple warmth of having her in your arms and the potential for her to be yours.

"We should..."

She shakes her head and buries into the crook of your neck and presses a lingering kiss there. "Don't you dare say stop."

"...talk?"

She hums against your skin and it takes everything for you to keep your composure. "We've already said plenty."

You're sighing and barely breathing, holding tightly because she's nosing her way along your neck and shoulder and taking a million liberties, probably in case you change your mind quickly and pull away and the moment of getting to feel this way in your arms ends. "Okay, then we should relocate at least, you're shivering."

She huffs and wraps her arms around you more tightly, pressing her body firmly to yours in a way that would probably topple you both over if you weren't sturdy and strong enough to hold her so effortlessly. "I'm not letting go."

You try to untangle yourself from her grasp because none of this is safe and you're on a rooftop and you're both wearing very little and even in the heat of Bangkok it's chilly at best. "I'm all for spontaneity, but the last thing we need is for you to get sick."

Her head moves side to side and she punctuates her protest with a nip at your muscle that makes you weak in the knees and your eyes close and a sigh escapes into her hair and you can feel her grin into your shoulder and you hate the power she holds over you. "You'll just take care of me."

She's being such a brat and half the time you can hardly keep up with her, but she is cold and so are you for that matter and there is nothing secure about this rooftop and you're still annoyed that she stormed up here against your expressed demands that she never do exactly this.

But you're an idiot and you're in love with her and it's finally out in the open and you're smiling and enjoying the moments here with her when you catch it, luckily just in time, as the laser illuminates the back of her head

You quickly spin her out of the shooter's line of sight and behind you the best you can, switching from holding her to holding your gun and fire off as many shots as you can, hoping it'll deter them long enough that she can get to safety.

You knew it would happen, that something would and you're seething mad at yourself for getting carried away and letting her stay in harm's way and not relocating her immediately. For allowing yourself to get lost in the press of her lips and the nips of her teeth and all the little protests from her to just stay in the moment with her rather than focus on the potential threats and the looming fear of the future that only she brings out in you.

"Ira, run."

This cannot become the only moment loving each other out loud the two of you get.

"No! I won't leave you!"

She clings to you and it's truly a testament not only to how protective she is of you , but also how much she blindly trusts that you'll keep her safe just by being near her. And while it's one thing in a mob of crazed fans, it's another when there's a gun pointed at her head.

You clearly need to work with her on her threat assessment abilities because you are not bulletproof and neither is she and if now there will be bullets flying, you're really going to have to step up her training because loving you will not get her killed or you'd never be able to live with yourself.

"Go, now!"

She takes one last look at you and starts to protest but you fire off another shot into the darkness and quickly turn to give her a look that leaves no room for her mouth and no room for her to do anything but get her ass to safety. 

"Stay low, move quickly, get to the door and then hide!"

You're shouting instructions at her, trying to listen to her responses so you know she's okay, trying to keep yourself safe and her calm and luckily you've seemed to distract the shooter, whoever this is, just long enough to start making your way to her.

This scenario is exactly why you don't sleep and exactly why you fuss her endlessly making sure she works hard, and hopefully now she'll finally take whatever is happening seriously because you're genuinely petrified.

You finally get down the stairwell and there doesn't seem to be anyone chasing you, still breathless, still full of fear and nerves and you shove your way through the door as she clings to your hand while you try and get her through this and into presumed safety.

You're through the door and assessing the interior and running room to room making sure the house wasn't breeched as she stands in the corner, arms crossed, waiting for you to come back with a bemused little smirk and not even a hint of fear considering you're full of it and it wasn't your head that had a sniper laser pointed at it. 

"Can you please quit running around the house all frantic and look at me?"

You rush to her side with one last look to the stairs and decide to forego duty and focus solely on her. Because she's asked you to. Demanded it of you. 

You're at her side in an instant and you both calm in your restored proximity.

"Are you hurt?" You can't believe you didn't check, can't believe your head is such a mess you didn't make sure and you're searching her body frantically, barely breathing, moving her and turning her and checking every inch of her for any wounds or worse and even though you don't see any blood or anything wrong you can't stop yourself, can't stop looking, can't stop making sure she's safe and okay with a panic you've never felt before .

She takes a step back so you don't get too lost in your head. "Baby, take a breath."

You barely register her voice, the endearment, you're too focused and losing your mind because you almost lost her and you knew letting yourself have her this way would bring a terrifying danger you weren't ready or capable of shielding her from that would risk her safety. 

And now absolutely everything you feared has come true, this destructive nature that your life brings to everyone you love, and she's calling to you and you can't hear her and tears are streaming down your cheeks and you could have lost her before you'd even really gotten to love her at all.

"Tawan, stop, I'm okay!"

You freeze, confused and completely blank, your face wet with tears without you even consciously crying them and she's standing in front of you and looking at you in a way that she never has before, not since she scratched your face and started all of this.

Like you're precious, like she's never needed you more than she ever has, so you reach for her, grasping tightly to her forearms, trying desperately to pull yourself out of this by sheer willpower and the pull of her touch and the softness of her eyes.

"Come back to me, I'm right here, I'm okay, breathe."

You take a gasping, staggered breath and she reaches for you instantly as you blink back into reality, to her standing in front of you worried and clearly holding back from wrapping you up in her arms. Except she knows you well enough now to give you space to gain some semblance of control over yourself before she does and you offer her a nod to let her know you've settled enough for her to engage.

She steps a few forward to get closer to you, hesitantly, runs her fingers reverently across your face, cradles it in her palms, brushes the sweat clung hair from your temples and away from your eyes, draws her thumb down your jaw, wiping the tears from your cheeks, stroking your skin. She holds you still, tries to calm you with her touch, with her affection, with her love and it's everything you never knew you needed.

The softness of her care.

It's gentle, gradual as she lets herself be brave, and you allow her the grace to set the pace, to lead you, oftentimes, into temptation, but this time into safety. Because when she pauses, watching for your reaction, there's a look in her eyes, deep and reflective, and she studies you, as if she's discovering, as if she's remembering, as if she's memorizing. 

And it makes you crave.

When she meets your gaze, really meets it again, you can barely breathe, lungs caught and suspended as you taste the moment on the tip of your tongue. Sometimes she'd bring you closer with her fingertips similar to this, so close, dropping her eyes to your lips in a way she thought was subtle, that you didn't notice, that you weren't allowing her just the same.

Before she'd do it in big moments, in her life the second the two of you were alone, when she was bursting with happiness or pride, or ones here at her house when you did something exactly right. It would pass quickly, not her fondness, but her bravery and now that she knows you love her back, you're sure she's going to take as many liberties to be in awe of you the same way you always are of her.

But this time it's in care, of concern, an intimacy that she's pushing through the newness of because the both of you were just shot at and you'd had an anxiety attack and completely lost control once the threat was gone and you've never been that close to losing her and it changed something inside of you.

"We're home and I'm safe and nobody is here but me. It's going to be okay."

You stop in your tracks and turn to look at her, arms crossed leaning against the frame of the doorway and you gawk at her, ready to open your mouth at the rebuttal because your fears are simmering at the surface and you cannot hold them in any longer.

"It's dangerous. You can't be serious, you were almost shot! There was a laser on the back of your head, there's nothing safe about anything anymore. They know."

She frowns, arms crossed, waiting patiently. "I'm dead serious."

The sincerity and nonchalance of her tone catches you off guard and the fear from it sends you straight to anger in the ways you've honed out of yourself, but everything is raw and you're terrified and she's not and it's some weird twist of fate that you don't care for at all and it makes you snap at her in frustration. "Don't say that!"

She shrugs and it infuriates you how endeared you are by it, how much she affects you. "Well? I am. You can gather the team later, right now we're going to talk."

"Ira, I could have lost you, they had you in their scope, I was reckless with you, I swore I never would be. This is exactly why I didn't... why I should never have..."

She leans in so close you can feel her breath across your lips and you stop talking and lick them in anticipation, unconsciously at her proximity, at the way she says your name dripping with intention and demand, desperately trying to pull you back into a moment with her. Your moment, together.

"Tawan?"

You blink a few times, stunned at her boldness, at her newfound sense of ease and cockiness. Because she's grabbing your hands and placing them on her waist and placing her hands on your shoulders so you listen. 

It's terrifying how quickly your walls have crumbled and she stands atop the rubble as if she's accomplished an unimaginable feat and she's smug as hell about it.

"So, it's not about duty, it's about losing me then?"

"Huh?"

She shuffles closer, leaning her full body weight into you. "The reason why you've hidden your feelings from me."

She's backed you into a corner now and she's not going to let you out of it until you tell her everything. Your body sags in defeat as the tension and adrenaline washes away and you're overcome with an overwhelming exhaustion like you've never felt before.

"There's nothing in this entire world that scares me more than losing you, and it's my duty to keep that from happening."

It's out of you in a single breath and she looks at you with a mix of shock and affection and wraps her arms around you and pulls you close, giving you no room to think about it anymore. "Just be here, now, with me."

You've said the same thing to her a million times now, she's always distracted and always all over the place emotionally and when you'd discovered it was a phrase that helped her focus on you, on the task at hand, it became something you said often to help her center herself.

You let out a long sigh and close your eyes, burying your face in her shoulder and finally let yourself go, let it all go, and melt into her, your arms wrapping her up and you allow yourself to be held, grasping desperately for her like she'd disappear if you can't climb under her skin.

"We're together and we're safe."

She repeats it three more times and you all but fall asleep in her arms, allowing her to be strong for you and soothe away some of the fear from the rooftop and you're grateful that she knows instantly what to do and what to say and exactly how to simultaneously hold physical and emotional space for you just on instinct.

Her arms loosen after a few minutes of being wrapped in each other's arms and she pulls back just a little to get a look at you, fussing over you in more than just words, slipping into a role you've been desperate for her to have almost effortlessly. 

She looks over you slowly, touches every inch of you in a soft reverence, deliberate and calm, like it's an honor to be trying and caring for you as she makes sure you're not hurt in a much calmer way than you had with her. 

You're grateful for the quiet way she's caring for you after such a high stress situation.

Where you absolutely were not calm and collected or professional for the second time in the last hour.

Which she didn't hold against you, because she understands you.

Her thumb traces across your cheek, just under the slice she'd inflicted before and you can't help but wince as you're coming back into your body and feeling everything after the adrenaline crash.

Rather than cry like she had, immediately fearful of hurting you, she presses a kiss to the corner of your mouth just below it, and you wonder if this is all she needed. If having purpose and consent to care for you, love you in the open, calmed her overthinking instantly. 

Her eyes meet yours and she smiles softly, reaches to tuck your hair behind your ear and leans in to press her forehead to yours, determined, it seems, to do all the little intimate things she's always dreamed of but had to restrain herself from this whole time. 

You wonder how much you could have spared both of you by just being honest and having a conversation sooner.

"Are you tired?"

It's soft and whispered across your lips and you pull back to look at her, really look at her, and you allow yourself to be vulnerable with her and nod, and she nods back, bright smile on full display as she sighs softly at your honesty and you know you've done the second right thing tonight.

Your hair is wavy from the heat, from the exertion, and she seems to be obsessed with this version of you, her eyes roaming all over and her fingers haven't stopped tracing the length of the waves and the curves of your face and it makes you forget just about everything else but the desire to crawl into her space and get as close to her as you possibly can.

The realness of her.

You've been desperate to get close to her like this, without walls or risk of being unprofessional for what's felt like an eternity now, since you'd found her on that street and sheltered her from the rain and all you wished for, been desperate for, was for this cozy softness.

Receiving and giving it, to wrap yourself around her and hold on tight. 

To slip away and show her exactly how devoted you've always been, how badly you've wanted this and wanted her.

To show her that you've always been in love with her.

Because regardless of her idol status or your employment as her bodyguard, she's seen something in you since the beginning. Always desperate to listen to every word out of your mouth, to catch every one with a smile and an intensely invested interest even you didn't understand. 

She's pushed your buttons and thrown endless fits and been an unbelievable brat, but she's always, always wanted more from you. 

But she's also been soft and sweet and calm and been genuinely interested in who you are and what you do, has needed you in way nobody has ever asked of you before, and you've jumped at the opportunities where you could, when it wouldn't be too much, crossed too many lines and taken too many liberties... loved her in quiet, stolen moments.

She's of many many words, exuberant and magnetic, full of expression, of the longing she can't hide and the smiles she can't stop that change specifically for you. It's a curious thing, the way she sees you, the way she experiences you, the way you know she loves you now too.

----

She's dragging you by the hand across the room to the couch because she's apparently decided that it's time the two of you get some rest. But it makes you nervous, letting go again, allowing yourself to be immersed in an intimacy with her with all the words unspoken looming over you, but she seems undeterred at any semblance of protest. She just holds on tighter.

"Ira, you need your rest too, I should probably--"

You hear the scoff without her having to turn to face you as she's fully just dragging you along with her now, not even entertaining your halfhearted attempts at prioritizing her rest or your discomfort and instead she's telling you exactly where you're going because she's in charge now.

And you like this newfound confidence, which unbeknownst to you, has been simmering under the surface for her, waiting for the first opportunity to take on the role for you if you showed her even an inkling that you could do this and that you wanted this as much as she wanted it with you.

"I'll rest later, will you come sit with me?"

You're only half heartedly protesting because you do want this, but you're also caught up in the whirlwind of the last hour and you're overwhelmed in your need for her, in your need for her to take control and for her to step up and put you where she wants you. "I really shouldn't, it's so late and you're..."

She stops abruptly, takes a moment and allows her eyes to rake over every inch of you this time, your loose suit and the white top you picked out specifically so she'd look during her training and bites her lip and soothes it with her tongue and it's really not fair that you don't get to do it yourself.

And you watch her watching you, seeing up close the way she reacts, the small gasp, the tense of her shoulders and the way her eyes flash and her mouth falls open just so.

"I'm what?"

Your eyes snap to hers and she smirks and you can tell how enthused she is to witness your deep deep blush, so deep you couldn't play it off if you tried, and she can't help but laugh and reach to cup your cheeks affectionately again because she clearly thinks you're genuinely the cutest person she's ever met. 

To your own surprise you don't pull away from her, you lean into the touch with a sigh and she doesn't remove her hands and you couldn't fathom putting any more space between you ever again.

Instead you welcome her, placing your hands over her own and she beams.

You take a deep, steading breath and hope you aren't about to make an absolute fool of yourself because she's bold and you're not used to it being so forcefully directed at you. "Well, you're..."

"Beautiful?"

"No. I  mean! Of course, but I..."

She turns her head and squints at you, questioning you and it gives you goosebumps, makes your stomach drop and you're desperate to fix it before it gets out of hand and you're just so severely out of your element when this Ira is potentially now fully your Ira. 

Because Ira is an idol. 

She flirts and plays and gets her way, professionally. 

You're hopelessly out of your depths.

"But I'm not beautiful enough?"

Your body reacts before your brain can and you freeze and are so taken aback you can't move. "What! You're stunning, why are you..."

She takes pity on you, dragging her index fingers across your flushed cheeks and squints her eyes in soft affection.

"Try again."

You take a deep, almost self-deprecating breath. "Of course I think you're beautiful. What I meant to say is you've had a long day and we've been through a lot. You never get much time to process things before something else happens so I thought maybe you'd like some time."

"I love that you notice and care about things like that."

And you do, because she genuinely never gets time to just be .

"I worry."

"About me?"

"Yes."

"Well you are my bodyguard."

She tries her best to convey exactly what she means through her eyes and you know, of course you do. You've written paragraphs to each other in gazes across the room, held full conversations through the brush of her fingers with yours. The words may have only just been shared, but she's never been subtle enough that you haven't heard.

"Is that all I am?"

She blinks a few times at you in shock, you've never been this forward with her, never pushed her farther than she's led you, but you have a few tricks up your sleeve too because you also know her and it's high time you show her just how well.

You've never implied anything like this, never dared ask her a question laced with so much more than just easy innuendos. So she soaks it in and holds onto it tightly because there has to be a finesse with this, the banter to mask the fear and the nerves behind the truth.

"Is that all you want to be?"

Her eyebrows crease just slightly, goading, waiting, perplexed or anxious you can't quite tell so you decide to press her further, be brave and try and be hers in every sense of the word. 

Because you want to be, even if you're not sure of the logistics and have no idea how to do this, you want to try.

"I don't think it is."

The slow, forceful exhale from her nose as you continue to have a very honest conversation laced in the effortlessly flirty banter you've always shared, that she's fully invested in, hits you like a tidal wave and your skin erupts in goosebumps at the intimacy; of how it feels to be so close you could step into her space and kiss her if you were brave enough.

"It isn't?"

Her eyes drop to your lips and you can't help the glee that bubbles within you because she's told you everything you need to know and it feels nice to be able to push her buttons as Tawan and her respond as Ira, no pretenses, no hierarchy, no rules.

Just you and her.

You shake your head because the answer will always be no.

"Good, then come sit with me and worry over there."

She takes a few casual steps away from you, hoping that you'll follow her, but instead you surprise her, reaching for her arm and pulling her closer to you, making eye contact with her as your hands naturally find their position at her waist.

"Ira..."

It's a confession as much as a plea, and declaration as much as a promise.

She sets her jaw and her eyes soften, reaching up to tuck some hair behind your ear in that way you've always seen people do but have never seen anyone look quite like the very breath in their lungs depended upon the action of it. 

Your heart is racing and you can see her pulse leaping from her neck and you wish you could wrap your lips around it and just...

"Ka?"

It's enough, the gentle, slow way she welcomes you with the look of adoration, the warmth, the affection, the desire . There's an immediate drop off to her voice, the lilt in her response your new addiction as a gasp escapes your lips and your fingers instinctively grip more tightly around her waist, nails digging into silky skin below the hem of her barely existent top and you watch as a lazy smirk drags across her perfect face and you ache.

You can feel the way her mouth moves in your stomach and feel it in your soul that she's about to be brave and that something is about to happen, feel her over every inch of your skin and you offer slow nods in response to a question neither of you are even asking but all you know is it's yes.

Yes, please.

----

She's radiant like this, glowy and soft and cozy and wrapped up in her oversized sweater she found hanging on the back of the couch, her hair up in that messy ponytail that drives you absolutely crazy because it leaves her collarbones and her jaw and her shoulders on full display, but only here, only for you.

Your head is resting gently, pillowed against her thigh, she'd brought you down to lay when you'd all but collapsed next to her from sheer exhaustion and she insisted that she get to take care of you now too. 

And you have a lot to make up for after everything, especially if the two of you are somehow going to figure out how to make this work together.

Because now there's no going back.

You can't love her out loud and not try.

She's scrolling through her phone, soft music emanating from the speakers in the corners of the room, fingers dancing along your scalp, tracing your hairline, brushing your skin so gently with her fingertips you don't dare move. 

This isn't new, her mapping your skin like this. Usually it's at the crook of your arm or across your bicep or the palm of your hand; it's always been absentminded more than anything, but now that it's intentional it feels so much different and so much better.

You cherished the moments when she was able to let go, even if you never allowed yourself to do the same.

Until now.

Now you can't get enough.

You sigh audibly and slowly and she leans forward, turning off her phone and placing it on the couch at her side, her focus drifting to your eyes with a soft sort of worry considering everything the both of you just went through. 

Near death and full confessions and the fear of loss so great it's exhausted you beyond measure.

"Are you okay?"

She's used to you brushing her off and worrying about her instead; you hyper focused on doing your job as always, and you can tell she's preparing her rebuttal, preparing for you to hide from her concern and not let her in like usual. 

It'd be easy to do so, slip back into the status quo and pretend none of this evening even happened. 

But it's not fair to either of you.

And you want to give this a genuine, real shot.

"Just breathing."

"Breathing that loudly is just you breathing?"

You hum the affirmative. 

"You're the quietest person I've ever met. Are you sure nothing is wrong?"

You turn your head a little to face her, bring your hand from your stomach to tangle your fingers with hers as you snuggle a little more into her lap, seeking affection, seeking her care, and the smile you're rewarded with proves you right. That it's time for you to be vulnerable and let her want you back, with everything that entails. "It's how I decompress, how I settle myself, it's not a bad thing, I promise."

She cocks her head to the side, inquisitive and sweet as she brushes her thumb over your chin, drawing it across your bottom lip in a way she's never done before and it sends goosebumps across your arms and you fight another sigh trying to keep yourself calm, keep yourself from blushing. "Why is this the first time I've heard you do it?"

"Because it's a weakness, and it's not something I share with anyone."

"How is breathing a weakness?"

"It made you ask if I was okay. Keeping your composure is important in my line of work, yours too, you know this better than anyone."

"But here, right now?"

"I'm just being myself, because I..."

She doesn't ask, lifts her eyebrows so you know she's interested, but gives you the space to continue without the pressure of demanding an answer, and you're grateful that she too has great attention to detail when it comes to you.

"I feel safe here, with you, and if we're going to..."

She smirks, booping you on the nose as you roll your eyes at whatever cute retort that's about to come out of her mouth because she knows exactly how you feel now.

"Love each other sooo much?"

"Right but there have to be rules to this, we can't just..."

Her eyes roll so hard you'd think they'd have ended up in the back of her head. "You and your ridiculous rules. There are no rules to loving someone, Tawan. You just do it and then show up and stay. And you're very good at showing up."

You catch the small fear hidden behind the absence of 'stay' but she's not letting you finish, afraid you're going to take it all back, but you just want her to know you're not trying to, you just need boundaries to feel safe in keeping her safe because of your love now. 

That even if every instinct in your body told you this was a bad idea, you can't go back.

"But not here at home, here we can just..."

"Love each other."

"Yes, here we can just love each other but out there I can't risk..."

"You're not going to lose me just because you've finally said the words out loud."

You're taken aback at the implications of this, how astute she really is to the overthinking you've always done and the fears you've always faced alone.

" I've loved you forever and nothing bad has happened."

You know she's telling you that she sees you, that she's beside you now, for all of it, but that just means an even greater potential for loss as she becomes more precious to you by the second. "I hope you're right."

"And that's what the breathing is about? You're still afraid?"

"I've been afraid since the day I met you."

She mockingly gasps and wiggles a little so your head moves with her. "But I'm so charming and sweet!"

You can't help but laugh, can't help but feel so drawn to her it makes your insides want to crawl out and crawl into her instead. There's a fondness blooming in your chest, you thought you were only infatuated before, but now you're fully enamored with her with absolutely no hope of ever recovering.

"I'm still afraid, regardless."

It's vulnerable and honest and you understand what she's trying to do, because you know her and you know how well she knows you, and your default may be deflection, but you want to try something more, want to push yourself to let down your walls during quiet stolen moments like this and let her see you fully yourself.

"Your fear is safe with me."

It's exactly what you needed to hear and you release a relieved sigh that makes her sit a little taller and her fingers tense against your scalp. "I'm scared too."

"You are?"

She traces your hairline, runs her finger softly across your forehead and down your cheek and sighs. Had you not been shot at and had your entire relationship dynamic not changed so suddenly you might allow yourself to bask in this newfound intimacy, the palpable connection and tension that's always been just below the surface now fully in the open. 

But you can't because you're realizing, perhaps in how close you came to losing her, just how much you need her. How deep your affection runs. How strong your love actually is.

Her lungs fill slowly, as if giving herself time to come up with the exact right answer, but when her face starts to distort in the cutest little ways you can tell that she thinks she's failing at her ability to be vulnerable in the way you deserve so she's just going to be as cute as she can be and hope it's enough to keep you.

It's new for her too, even if she hasn't been subtle or she's pushed through your walls and crept inside your heart, she still didn't know it wasn't futile. She still doesn't know what you need from her.

"Hey," you lace your fingers together and offer her a quick squeeze to pull her out of her head so she remembers it's just you and her. "Just... tell me how you feel, you don't have to hold back anymore. I'm here."

She smiles more delicately than you've ever seen and squeezes back.

"You're here."

You breathe loudly again and she laughs because she knows it means that you're overwhelmed with affection for her this time and you curl into her again and pinch her arm and feel so content in a way you will never take for granted and never ever tire of. 

"I'm afraid I'm dreaming. That when I wake up tomorrow you'll go back to just being my bodyguard. That I'll never get to love you how I need to."

Her energy pulls back enough where you know that she needs reassurance and you sit up and wrap your arms around her, pulling her tightly to you, holding her, soothing her, reassuring her. 

You tuck your face into the crook of her neck and press a lingering kiss so she knows nothing will change in your... newly changed dynamic.

"I've never just been your bodyguard."

She clicks her tongue and pouts.

"We're going to have this argument for the rest of our lives aren't we?"

It's lofty and weighted and a question better suited for when you've actually been able to be together longer than ten minutes, but she's Ira and she thinks four hundred steps ahead and you know she needs you to meet her halfway. 

"Hopefully."

She needs to know it's not a casual attraction or infatuation, that it's not just circumstantial love. That you see a future with her. That you'd choose one with her if it's offered. That you'd choose her.

So you pull back enough physically, take a deep breath, and look her in the eyes so she hears and feels and sees the sincerity behind every word.

"I've held myself back for so long, loved you in silence for so long. It wasn't fair. To either of us."

You pause and check in with her, make sure she understands.

"I don't know how we're going to do this, but it's... you. It's always been you. I can't go back."

She tilts her head in such a way and the look draws her face with such perplexity that it makes you want to kiss her stupidly cute dimple as it appears in contemplation before you. 

And then you remember you can and so you do it and she giggles, reaching up to cup her own cheeks to ward off the soft hint of a blush.

"I want you, and only you, do you understand?"

It's a little overwhelming, you admit, going at it alone for so long, never letting yourself need or want or focus on anything but the present, and suddenly here she is, slowly unraveling you more quickly than you thought was possible. 

You've been trained to resist these temptations, trained to hold yourself to a higher standard and be above needing. 

Anyone.

Anything.

But you need her. Her fingers in your hair. Her touch on your skin. The warmth of her body pressed against yours. And it's terrifying, losing control over yourself. The switch so easily flipped and all your walls have crumbled and you're scared of what that all means just as much.

And you knew.

Knew the second you let her into your heart in such a real way that everything would change.

She's not really saying much more after your very direct confession and you're not sure why, and your mind starts to race in the silence. 

You're not used to overthinking like this, always grounded and prepared and patient.

In control.

But she makes you nervous; has always made you nervous. Has made you want to share every thought and feeling, have a thousand more just so she can help sort them out one by one in a way only she seems to know how.

"You're thinking so loudly."

You sigh again, deep and drawn as your heart starts to race for a conversation you're not really fully ready to have, even if you both need it, and you can tell by the way her ministrations have changed that she's soothing deliberately now too, trying to keep you grounded to her, not letting your mind get too far without thoughts of her, good thoughts, that pull you back to her once again.

"We don't have to talk about it right now, but promise you'll stay?"

She tilts her chin in the direction of her lap and gives you space to lay back down and settle with her. It seems to offer you both a separate closeness, an intimacy that works for how independent you both are as you try to navigate how to need one another. Where you can be there, but still have space to process.

You're grateful for how well she understands.

You roll your head back over her thigh and immediately meet her tired, worried eyes and offer her a soft smiled nod, bringing her palm to your lips and offering her some sort of relief that you absolutely hear her and you absolutely won't run from her.

"You're still sure?"

She chuckles and nods fervently.

"I'm sure."

You nod once back and wink at her and she grins. "Good."

She reaches and turns you by the chin to meet her gaze so you can't hide from her, she wants to see it as much as hear it. "You really mean what you said? It's only me?"

You swallow and bite a little at your bottom lip.

"Only you."

Her sigh is wistful and even though you're wildly overwhelmed admitting your feelings so boldly, you can't help but grin at the serene look on her face because you've given her exactly what she's needed.

You realize in that moment that her happiness is paramount to your own, and for as good as it feels to admit to her out loud, it's... terrifying.

Because these big big feelings are brewing within you and the closeness of her is lulling you into a daze and you could lose yourself forever in this if you aren't careful.

And it's as simple as that.

It doesn't make sense why there's still a war going on inside your head, because you want to kiss her and feel her and love her but you're in your bubble here, have always been, but out there... with guns and enemies and a risk now far greater than anything you've faced thus far...

It's a lot.

You're nervous about the pressure too and you can't hide from yourself how complicated this could become, even if the words slip from your mouth with an almost practiced ease, now with everything out in the open, you can't just focus on the fantasy, the potential. 

You also have to see the practicality too.

Because ultimately her safety is still your priority, now more so than ever.

And you're afraid you'll slip into someone she doesn't deserve again, that you'll love her out loud here at home and it'll be too unsafe to love out there and she deserves someone who can love her every second, every place, and never have to hide anything she feels.

You want that to be you, but you're not sure you're capable.

She doesn't deserve that, doesn't deserve you panicked and fearful and decidedly not who you've shown her you are in the comfort of this space, now in her arms. and it's nerve-racking.

You need some space. Not a lot. Just a little.

"Could I get us some water at least?"

She chuckles a little to herself and nods, understanding your motives immediately. 

"As long as you promise to come back."

You don't even have to think about it, it's automatic. 

"I'll never leave you again."

"Good. I'd love some tea, if you're offering."

Her asking you to do something for her shows just how well she knows you, that you function better when you have something to do and you look at her fondly, brush your thumb across the corner of her mouth and offer her a nod of understanding, of approval that she's doing everything perfectly.

That you'll come back. 

That you're going to stay.

"Always."

And you mean it.

You sit up, reluctantly, and you're grateful when she tugs you back into a hug with the biggest smile, her eyes a little misty with the weight of the evening. She peppers your cheek with a few kisses for good measure and squeezes around your shoulders hard, making sure you know she still means everything she's said and still wants this, even if you need some space. 

She lets your need for space go, sends you off with a quick kiss and a gentle squeeze of your hand as you only lose contact with her when you've all but pulled her off the couch with your distance.

----

It doesn't take long, the water barely at a simmer before she's shuffling her way into the kitchen. She's changed fully, white silky shorts and a top that leaves very little to the imagination and you can't help but look away quickly because now you know she's done it deliberately every time you've been here with her and her sleep outfits had gotten progressively less friendly and your heart races so fast you'd bet she can hear it from across the room.

"You're sure taking an awfully long time just for tea."

You turn to face her, hands behind you on the counter as she walks closer, saunters, and you're blinking back your attraction because you've never allowed yourself to indulge like this, and now you can and you might throw all your composure out the window and take.

"You know," she takes a few more steps towards you. "No one else has ever been able to resist me for this long."

She watches you gulp and freezes in place, wide eyed as she traces the movement of your throat, and she's sure of herself if the lazy smirk that draws across her face is any indication.

"But you," she takes a few more steps and you quickly switch off the gas of the stovetop before the water boils over or you light yourself on fire. "You held onto your professionalism for so long."

There are sixteen steps between you now and you're absolutely counting every single one of them for your own sanity. "I was beginning to think that I'd lost literally all my natural gifts at seducing someone."

"You were..."

"Trying to seduce you every second I've been with you, yes."

"It was very difficult to resist."

Ten steps.

"Oh, I'm sure. I'm very gifted."

Six steps.

"I've noticed."

Four steps.

"And yet you never made a move."

Three steps.

"Well I was..."

Two steps.

"You were what?"

She pauses and you stop breathing, eyes snapping up to meet hers. 

Your mind was so focused on what her next moves were, how close she was getting, what to say rather than letting yourself be in the moment. Because this is still new and you're not used to not having to be professional and getting to really push her back and she caught you and stopped you and now she's waiting.

And it's electric.

You take the remaining steps and get right up into her space rather than answer, reach to cup her jaw and tilt her chin with your thumb. Like you had on the rooftop that silenced her rambling and her fears and started all of this unraveling in the first place.

She gasps, her hands finding your waist as she waits for your next move. Closes her eyes and holds her breath and waits for the split second decision whether you'll kiss her, how far you'll go, just how long you can wait.

But she thinks she's the only one good at this, so you drop your hand and step aside and reach to open the cabinet to grab your designated mugs instead, leaving her frozen and blinking back her shock because she was sure you were going to give in. 

Except she's right, you can resist her charms, with great difficulty, but you can. And now that you know it's something that made her even more determined in the past, you're absolutely going to use it to your advantage moving forward. 

She wants to push, she better be ready to be pushed right back.

"So mean."

It's huffed under her breath with a punctuated stomp of her foot that you catch out of the corner of your eye and you grin because she was so sure it'd worked and you were putty in her hands.

You still are.

But you also love her riled up and a little explosive and a lot determined.

"So I was thinking..."

"On the counter."

You turn fully and gawk at her because she's interrupted you and the look in her eyes has you nervous because she's never looked at you quite like this. "What?"

She inhales sharply, eyes focused and determined and clearly no longer interested in your bullshit. "Pick me up and put me on the counter."

"You want me to," your eyes look from her determined ones, arms crossed and stance letting you know there will be no more banter and you will not deny her this any longer. "Put you..."

She shuffles a little closer to you, hands on her hips now. "You're a big strong bodyguard, right? I think you can handle it."

"Of course I can, but why?"

"Because I like it and I want you to do it."

"You're very bossy for..."

The millisecond it leaves your mouth you know you've already lost.

"Someone who is your boss?"

You sigh, forcefully, because this is neither the first time, nor the last, that you'll have and lose this exact conversation. Why you keep letting yourself get trapped there is beyond you.

She gives you a pointed glare that sends shivers throughout your whole body and you realize that the reason you keep walking into it isn't beyond you, it's right in front of your face.

Because you like it.

"Technically, but..."

You set your jaw and glare at her back because she's giving you no room to do or say anything but what she desires, and she's going to be loud about it, going to take all the new liberties she's been granted by you finally admitting you're in love with her and will be relentless in carving herself an even bigger slot in your heart and your life.

As if she hasn't already become your entire world.

"Haven't I been patient enough?"

And you shut your mouth and lean in close because you cannot argue with that. She has, and you've denied her for far too long and now it's in your abilities to give her absolutely everything she's ever desired and you're buzzing with the desperation to do exactly that.

To show her your sincerity.

To prove that you love her, have loved her, will always love her.

That you want her.

Her skin is silky, luxurious in a way that has never fit for you and your callused hands and your cumbersome grip, you've never been soft, but she... she's delicate, precious in a way that demands precision and the utmost care, two things you've always excelled at.

Loving someone like her is something unexpected, something you've fought to avoid at all costs, because now that it's out there and she sees you, all you want to do is covet her.

Cherish her.

Worship her.

And if there's one thing you've always done with her, it's those.

It's easy to get lost in it, the rhythm of her and you and the flow of becoming . Of what, you aren't entirely sure, but it's there, an inevitable push and pull, a banter, a language all your own, foundational and safe and everything.

Now you can do everything you've craved, and you're going to do exactly that.

And it finally happens, after so long by her side she brings you even more closely into her, slides her hands up your forearms and grips your elbows as she takes a step backwards, never breaking eye contact, your body in sync with hers as you allow her to walk both of you to the island, lead you anywhere, as long as she stays pressed to you like this and never ever lets you go.

You grip her by the waist, brush your thumbs across her skin there, watch as they drag across the expanse of her stomach and you squeeze, meeting her eyes to make sure this is what she still wants. 

She nods, teeth bared down on her bottom lip in anticipation and you brace yourself and lift her effortlessly and her hands are in your hair and across your shoulders and touching every inch of skin she can immediately.

Her breathing changes when you so willingly give up control over whatever is happening between you, see the way she's swallowing and fighting herself whether she's going to kiss you now or wait until she reaches her destination. You feel the flex of her grip and how her fingertips map, memorize your skin centimeter by centimeter.

Her tongue darts out to lick her lips and the dual sensation of seeing and feeling hits you like a ton of bricks and you barely know what to do with yourself, with her, because the answer is everything.

And at the thought, with the anticipation, you drop your gaze to her perfect lips and your mouth drops open and she watches you, with rapt attention, something you've only seen in her when she thought you weren't looking. 

You're almost certain she's going to kiss you, has to at this point or you might do something extremely undignified and handle it yourself because you need to kiss her. Need to taste her. Need it all.

You finally pick her up and put her on the counter before she can even register what's happening, your height perfect enough that all you have to do is slide your hands under her thighs, scoot her back more deliberately, forcefully, one leg and then the other until you're cradled between them, palms to skin, waiting.

There's a satisfied, challenging lift of her eyebrows because now it's her move and she's exactly where you want her, where she asked you to take her, and this little game is exhilarating because her legs are wrapped around your waist and you're touching her skin and you're so overwhelmed with affection for her that you worry nothing will be enough to show her.

But your thoughts are of more and you can feel the blush overtake you and you don't even care if she sees, if she likes it because it's real and it's you and you want to give her everything that you are and will be.

You remember the warmth and her perfume and being completely enveloped in her arms, now much more of a reality because they're your arms around her and you give yourself permission to roam.

You stroke the skin of her lower back with your thumbs as you watch her watching you, both of you waiting, both of you learning, both of you savoring every second of closeness because you've been desperate for it. You press into her muscles as they jump under your touch, tracing the delicate lines of her back with your nails, digging and massaging and feeling her come absolutely undone at the attention.

She's exquisite, perfectly contrasting in the most delicious of ways but of all the things you're desperate to experience with her, the one you've most dreamed of is simplistic and easy and safe so you go for it, looping your arms around her and pulling her flush against you; burying your fingers in her hair and you both sigh because she must have been craving it too.

To be hugged. To be held. To be hers.

It's risky but you're desperate and you lean forward, your face now pressed in her hair and your breath at her neck, draw your nose along the shape of her ear and feel her as she moves with you, slowly as you lean her back, a push and pull so fluid it makes makes your heart race even faster because this dance is unlike anything you've ever experienced and you just can't get enough.

She squeezes her knees around your hips so you know not to stop, not to go anywhere, and your breathing staggers in her ear and she's whispering, almost whimpering your name because she's begging you not to stop, begging you for more, begging you to stay and figure this out with her and you feel it too. 

You wouldn't dare go anywhere ever again.

"Please?"

Your hands squeeze around her thighs in reaction and you can tell she's holding herself back, that it made her feel something as she's nudging along your jaw with her nose, allowing the ghost of her lips to graze your skin and feel, even though she's not actually doing anything, but the air is electric and if she doesn't actually kiss you herself this time you might actually die.

You took the leap twice, now you need her to want you enough to do it for you back.

It's easy giving her this, the space to decide what she wants, the safety of choice, while you still indulge yourself just a little too. Touching her and tasting her skin and not having to hold yourself back, getting to have her without fear or professional propriety, and it's one of the sexiest things you've ever experienced. 

You hope she's as drunk on you and your skin and your body pressed to hers as you are on the smell of her hair and the warmth of her pulse and the soft strength of her as your bodies move together, desperate for closer, connected, craving her.

It takes every ounce of willpower you have but there's only so much begging and so many hints she can drop because you're being chivalrous but she wants you to be bold. 

Your hands are occupied and she pulls back enough, fingers still in your hair guiding you to meet her eyes because she wants you to see what you're doing to her. 

But you need her to be direct. 

Need her to take charge of her own pleasure after everything.

Need her to leap.

She roams your eyes and swallows hard and you pout your biggest pout, even though it's not something you do, and look and she tugs a bit at your hair and you stop breathing and so does she and finally, finally she pulls her hands from your hair and reaches to hold your neck, awe and reverence and love echoing and dancing in her gaze. 

"Can I kiss you?"

You beam at her for getting it exactly right, consent and consideration and the question you've been desperate to hear for much too long and instead of answering you lean forward and kiss her quietly and it's everything.