Closer Than I Meant to Be

    The scent of coffee drifted into Nova's nose before her eyes even opened. Not sharp diner-brew coffee, but something rich and nutty, with a hint of cinnamon. When she sat up, the silk sheets pooled around her waist, and sunlight spilled across the foot of the bed in pale gold ribbons. Damian's shirt hung loosely off one shoulder—his, not hers. She remembered tugging it on in the middle of the night after slipping from his lap and falling asleep tucked into his side on the couch. At some point, he must've carried her back to bed. Of course, he had.

    The breakfast tray on the velvet bench at the end of the bed was perfectly arranged. Fresh croissants. Berries. A glass carafe of coffee with steamed almond milk on the side. A rose gold napkin folded like origami. And a single wildflower in a tiny crystal vase. It wasn't the same flower as before. And this wasn't the same vase. Nova stared at it, heart picking up speed, but not in panic this time. She picked it up and studied it. Pale violet petals. Not from a store. Nova should've been unnerved. Instead, she smiled just a little. A secret smile she didn't know was in her. Downstairs, Damian was nowhere to be seen, but the stereo played soft jazz. Every light was warm. The house smelled like bergamot, cedar, and something faintly citrus. The kind of clean that money bought. The type of calm she hadn't known in years. Nova was halfway through her coffee when her phone buzzed.

Calendar reminder:

"Call your mom – 10 a.m."

"Read 10 pages – 2 p.m."

"Walk – the weather's nice."

   Nova stared. She hadn't added those. Her throat went dry. She turned and nearly jumped when she found Damian standing in the kitchen doorway, sleeves rolled to the elbow, holding a plate of sliced figs and cured meats.

"Morning," Damian said as if he hadn't slipped into her digital life like it was his own.

"I didn't ask you to do that," Nova said, gesturing at her phone.

"You didn't have to," Damian said. "I'm not trying to take your choices. I just thought it might help."

His voice was low. Not smug. Just... sincere.

"That's not normal," Nova said, even as her fingers hovered over the "dismiss" button and didn't press it.

"I don't want normal," Damian said, crossing the kitchen to place the tray in front of her. "I want you rested. Writing again. Alive."

"You sound like you're designing me," Nova said.

"No," Damian said, brushing her cheek. "I'm rebuilding what they tried to erase."

    By late morning, he took her out. The botanical garden downtown sat between two skyscrapers like a secret, green pocket of serenity. Flowers bloomed in symmetrical beds. Butterflies floated lazy loops through the air. Water trickled from a koi pond tucked in a shaded alcove. Nova didn't want to admit how much she loved it. Damian walked beside her, not in front of her. Let Nova talk about her favorite colors. Bought her lavender lemonade without asking. Damian took a photo of her laughing at a duck stealing crumbs from a toddler's stroller.

"Don't post that anywhere," Nova said, cheeks flushed.

"Never," Damian said, and she believed him.

A little girl near the fountain looked up at them and tilted her head. "He looks at you like a story he already finished."

Nova blinked. "What?"

But the girl had already skipped back to her mother.

    That night, she found it waiting in the corner of her room. An antique writing desk. The same kind she once blogged about during her poetry phase. Mahogany. Gold-rimmed. A brass keyhole in the middle drawer. Nova stood there in silence. Nova didn't ask how he found one. She didn't want to ask.

"I figured it's time," Damian said softly behind her. "You have words in you again."

Nova touched the desk. "It's exactly the one I dreamed about."

"You remembered," Nova whispered.

Damian didn't say anything, just leaned in and kissed her temple. "I don't want to be the one who rewrites you," he murmured. "I just want to give you the pen."

    Nova blinked at him, throat tight. The words settled somewhere behind her ribs, dangerous and disarming. She didn't speak. Instead, Nova turned and walked to the center of the room, heart pounding in her ears. Nova felt his presence behind her before Damian even touched her. When his hands found her waist, Nova didn't flinch. Damian's mouth brushed the curve of her shoulder, soft as breath. "Tell me you don't want this."

    Nova stepped back into him, her hips meeting his, slow and deliberate. Damian inhaled and stuttered. Nova spun around and kissed him with no hesitation, no grace. It wasn't about surrender anymore. It was needed. Raw and aching. Damian responded instantly, one hand fisting in her hair, the other gripping her hip, grabbing a hunk of flesh as if Nova might vanish if he didn't hold on. Damian's mouth was hot and consuming, tongue sweeping and twirling into hers with dark intent. He kissed like a man who'd studied her, dreamed of her, burned for her.

    Nova tugged at his shirt, pulling it up and over his head. Her palms roamed his chest, complex, defined, warm. Damian didn't stop her. He let her explore and set the pace. But it didn't last. The moment Nova's fingers slid down his abs, Damian growled, low and unfiltered, and lifted her in one swift motion. Nova's back hit the bed with a bounce. Damian followed, kneeling between her thighs. His mouth moved over her like he was memorizing her taste, neck, breasts, stomach. Nova arched, gasping when his teeth grazed the inside of her thigh. Her legs shook as he licked up slowly, torturously, drawing sounds from her she didn't know she could make.

"Damian," she gasped, voice broken.

    He didn't answer. Damian gripped Nova's hips and pulled her to the edge of the bed like he'd been waiting to ruin her. And destroy her he did. Damian mouth was relentless. His tongue moved with ambition, precise, unhurried, and utterly merciless. Nova clutched the sheets, then his hair, crying out as heat rippled through her in sharp, staggering waves. Her climax wasn't gentle; it ravaged her. Made her forget the room, the house, the reasons she should be afraid. When she tried to catch her breath, Damian didn't give her time. Damian rose over her, eyes burning.

"You're mine," Damian rasped, voice wrecked with want. "Say it." he finished.

    Nova couldn't. She didn't need to. Damian entered her in one smooth, claiming thrust, and everything else unraveled. Damian moved with devastating rhythm, hard and deep, but never careless. His fingers laced with hers above her head, his chest pressing Nova into the mattress, every inch of him sinking into her with impossible control. Their bodies met in a rhythm she didn't know they'd learned. It was primal. Messy. Beautiful. Nova whispered his name again, this time with reverence. Damian slowed, kissed her collarbone, and whispered against her ear, "You don't have to pretend with me."

    Nova let him take her apart, again and again, until there was nothing left but heat and breath and trembling limbs tangled beneath the weight of something terrifying. When it was over, Damian didn't move away. He wrapped his arms around her and tucked her head beneath his chin. His hand rested over her heart. Steady. Possessive. Almost tender. Nova didn't ask him to stay. But he didn't leave.

    When Damian finally left her room, Nova didn't sleep.She lay tangled in the sheets, heartbeat still thudding in her chest like it didn't know the danger had passed. Her body ached in all the right places Damian touched. But it wasn't just the sex that kept her awake. It was the way he looked at her after. Like she was his. Like she'd always been. Nova pulled on his shirt, long enough to graze her thighs, and padded barefoot toward the window. The city outside blinked with late-night silence. Somewhere behind her, the air still smelled like his cologne. It was too quiet. Too still. Nova turned, drawn instinctively, to the corner where the antique writing desk stood. She hadn't written a word in it yet. She wasn't sure she could. Nova ran her fingers over the smooth mahogany surface, trying to ground herself.

And that's when she saw it.

A journal.

Not just any journal.

Hers.

The one she'd lost years ago. A fabric-bound notebook with sun-faded corners and a tear along the spine. She hadn't seen it since… since before everything fell apart. Nova picked it up with shaking hands and flipped it open.

Wildflower.

Pressed neatly between the pages.

Her favorite kind.

One Nova didn't remember ever telling him about.

Her eyes scanned the open page, an old poem she'd written during a breakdown she never posted. Scribbled lines about silence, fear, and how all she wanted was peace. And there, stuck just below the poem, was a small yellow note in Damian's handwriting.

You said you wanted peace.

I'm just giving you the life you deserve.

    Nova's knees gave a little. She sat down hard in the desk chair, journal still open in her lap. That line. That exact line. She'd written it at seventeen in a private journal. Never shared. Never posted. Never said aloud. And he had it. How long had he been watching her? How long had he been planning all this? Nova looked at the flower again, delicate, purple-edged, carefully preserved.

Damian was leaving them for her.

One at a time. And Nova hadn't noticed. Her breath trembled. Not in fear. Not even in anger. But in something worse. Recognition. Because even now, even knowing what it meant, she didn't want it to stop.

"If you're watching…" Nova whispered into the empty room, "Just don't stop."

She didn't know if she meant it as a threat.

Or a prayer.

But it was the truth.