Page 104 of Falcon’s Forever

He understands what I mean by that.

“You’re welcome,” he says quietly.

I take a breath. “And thank you for not coming to the hospital.”

Pain flashes across his face, brief but unmistakable. “You asked for space.”

“I know.”

There it is again. We both notice at the same time, and a startled laugh escapes us.

“We really need another phrase,” I say.

“Working on it,” Falcon replies.

My chest aches, and not in the way it used to. God, I love him. I thought anger would kill that. It didn't.

"I missed you," I say, before I can decide whether to.

Falcon goes completely still. I could take it back. I don't.

"I missed you too," he says, quiet.

"I'm still angry."

"I know." He catches himself immediately. "Sorry."

I raise an eyebrow.

"I don't want you to pretend yesterday didn't happen," I say.

"I don't want you to either."

"I don't know what happens with us."

His eyes hold mine. "You don't have to know."

That answer helps more than it should, no promises, no demands, no pressure toward an outcome.

"I don't want you to disappear," I say.

"I won't."

"You can't promise that."

"No." He corrects himself right away. "I can promise I won't disappear because I'm scared of waiting for you to decide."

That, I believe. His hand shifts at his side, not reaching, but close to it, and my body responds before my brain catches up. I want him to touch me. Not everywhere, not the way we used to. Just something.

I close the distance myself. His fingers close around mine slowly, carefully, no claiming in it at all, just holding my hand.

My eyes sting. “This doesn’t mean we’re fixed.”

“I know,” Falcon says.

I give him a warning look. “Falcon.”

“Sorry.”