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His hand lifted, catching a tear before it could slide down my cheek. His hand stayed there after, cool against my warm skin.

“I went centuries not feeling anything real. Until you. And that hasn’t disappeared just because we’re hurting.” His thumb brushed beneath my eye. “And this does hurt. But not nearly as much as letting you go now that I’ve found you.”

My heart ached to believe that he could still want me after everything.

“You don’t have to forgive me just because you love me.”

“I know.”

“I’d hate it, but I’d understand if you still wanted to walk away.”

“That’s just it, Maggie,” he said, his finger gliding across my cheek. “I don’t want to.”

“You’re sure?”

“Centuries alive, Maggie. You’re still the only thing I’ve ever felt sure about.”

His hand slid, moving to frame my face in a familiar way that made my heart ache in memory, then swell at the idea of being able to have it again. Perhaps forever.

I stepped closer, but paused, waited, giving him a chance to pull away.

He didn’t.

His free hand slid up, snaked around my waist, pulled me closer.

“I love you,” I whispered.

He leaned down, pressing his forehead to mine.

“Good. It would have been deeply embarrassing if I was the only one losing my mind here.” He pressed a kiss between my brows. “You know, I was genuinely hoping this was just a severe psychosis on my part,” he said, dragging a surprised laugh out of me. “But I do too. I love you.”

My voice was thick when I spoke.

“I’ve read enough romance novels to know that this is where you’re supposed to kiss me. It’s too late to rewrite it.”

His lips curved up, his eyes warming.

“Far be it from me to sabotage the narrative structure now.”

Then his lips pressed to mine.

Epilogue

[ “For the record, I still think love is irrational. I’ve simply stopped considering that a flaw.”

— The Midnight Frequency - Episode 400]

Maggie

“Stop that,” Silas demanded as I flicked the bobblehead figurine of him. It came complete with a tiny suit, blood-tipped fangs, and a little microphone.

I had one too.

But his was way cuter.

“What’s it say?” I asked.

Silas was leaning against the edge of my desk, dangerously close to toppling my very organized pile of paperwork. If by ‘organized’ you meant, you know, straightened into a pile. He had his own pile. And it was full of fan mail. Much to his eternal annoyance. Though, if you asked me, he totally got a kick out of it, especially after all this time.