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“I can’t do this,” Cecilia barely mutters. “I can’t keep doing this to you, Gigi.”
Her hands are outstretched, hovering just short of Gigi’s face—porcelain fingers trembling, stiff with hesitation. Her eyes, deep with something unreadable, shift between Gigi’s gaze and the already pinkened patches on her skin.
From this distance, Gigi can feel it. The heat. The awful, wonderful, and cruel warmth radiating from Cecilia’s fingertips. It licks at the air between them, waiting, threatening. And when one stray touch barely grazes her cheek—
A sharp inhale. A wince. Cecilia flinches like she felt it too. Her fingers twitch back.
“Please. Leave.”
They’ve had this conversation a thousand times. Cecilia burns too hot—her machinery refuses to cool. And it only burns worse when she’s in love. Maybe that’s why it aches more. The fact that Cecilia loves her, and in turn, her hands are meant to burn her away.
But Gigi doesn’t care. She never does.
She steps forward anyway.
“Gigi. Don’t.”
She barely hears it. Instead, she reaches—grabs Cecilia’s wrists, slowly guiding them to cup her face, pressing into the scalding warmth despite the sting that immediately blossoms under her skin.
It hurts. God, it hurts. A sharp, throbbing pain that steals the breath from her lungs. Her shoulders tense, fingers gripping tighter against Cecilia’s wrists as her body screams at her to move away.
But she won’t.
She leans in. Chases the heat. Feels Cecilia’s touch brand her, searing through every nerve. She shudders, gasps softly, but refuses to let go.
“Don’t…” Her voice is strained, whisper-thin. She meets Cecilia’s conflicted gaze, green eyes dark with wariness. “Don’t push me away.”
Another wince. Another pulse of pain. Her breath shudders as her grip on Cecilia’s wrists tightens.
“I—” A hiss. “I don’t care.” A ragged breath. “Just… let me stay here.”
Cecilia’s hands twitch against Gigi’s cheeks, like she’s trying to decide if she should pull away. Like she’s already scolding herself for not doing so.
But Gigi, reckless and selfish, guides her. Fingers curling around Cecilia’s wrist, she moves her touch downward—slow, encouraging.
“Keep touching me.” Her voice is a whisper, barely there, but the weight of it is undeniable.
Cecilia swallows, her lips parting as if to argue. But she doesn’t. Instead, her hand obeys. Her fingers brush lightly over the curve of Gigi’s jaw, tucking a stray strand of hair behind her ear. It sears. It burns. But god, did Gigi just want to feel this.
She shudders. Not from pain, not entirely, but from the way Cecilia’s touch lingers—soft, reverent, like she’s memorising the shape of her.
Gigi’s hands slide downward, pressing lightly against Cecilia’s waist. A step forward, then another, until Cecilia’s back meets the edge of the bed. Another nudge, and she’s sitting. Gigi follows, climbing into her lap, legs on either side.
Cecilia stiffens. “Gigi—”
“Shh.” Gigi hushes her, nudging their foreheads together. Her breath is warm, her grip steady. “Let me have this.”
Cecilia exhales shakily, but she gives in. Her arms wrap around Gigi’s waist, hesitant but firm. She traces the small of her back, the curve of her spine—careful, always careful, as if she can somehow make her touch less cruel.
Gigi doesn’t mind the pain. Not when Cecilia is holding her like this.
Cecilia presses a kiss to her shoulder first. Just a whisper of warmth, a ghost of a touch. Then higher. Her lips find Gigi’s neck, brushing softly against the flushed skin.
“I love you,” Cecilia murmurs.
Gigi squirms, the sensation both soothing and unbearable. But Cecilia doesn’t stop. She presses another kiss to her jaw, then to her cheek, her breath trembling with the weight of it all.
And when she finally reaches her lips—
“I love you so much,” Cecilia whispers, before settling for an actual kiss.
It’s delicate, like she’s afraid of breaking Gigi further. But Gigi leans in harder, chasing her, melting against her even as the warmth threatens to consume her whole.
They don’t speak after that. They just breathe, wrapped up in each other. Gigi, in Cecilia’s lap, Cecilia, touching her like she’s something fragile and precious.
And for a moment, it’s enough.
The soft hum of the medical bay fills the silence. The cool air soothes the tender burns on Gigi’s skin as she dabs ointment onto them, her expression unreadable.
Cecilia stands beside her, unmoving. Watching.
She can’t touch her. Not now. Not when the heat still lingers at her fingertips, pulsing, waiting.
She burns hot when she’s in love. And isn’t that just heartbreaking?
She clenches her fists, her breath tight in her throat. She wants to help. Wants to hold Gigi’s hand, to press soft kisses over the irritated skin and whisper apologies between each one.
But she can’t.
Not without making it worse.
And yet—
Gigi looks up. Meets her gaze. And smiles.
It’s small, tired, but undeniably real.
And just like that, Cecilia thinks—maybe she shouldn’t feel this awful about it.
Maybe, just maybe, Gigi thinks she’s worth the burn.