The room was dimly lit, the soft amber glow from the bedside lamp casting long shadows across the walls. Wrapped up in the afterglow of their first time together, Ryan lay with Hazel in his arms. The heat of their passion slowly faded into a warmth that felt deeper, softer, and more real.
Hazel rested her head against Ryan's chest, listening to the steady rhythm of his heartbeat. It soothed her, grounding her in the moment. But underneath that calm exterior, a swirl of thoughts stormed inside her.
"Ryan..." she whispered, her voice barely above a breath.
He turned his head toward her, brushing his lips against her forehead. "Yeah?"
She hesitated, fingers tracing idle patterns across his bare chest. "Do you ever get scared? Not of something obvious, but... of things changing? Of losing someone you love again?"
Ryan went quiet for a moment. His arms instinctively tightened around her. "Every day. Since I lost my parents, I've had this fear—like everything good in my life is temporary. Like any moment of peace is just a pause before the next storm."
Hazel closed her eyes. "Me too. I keep thinking... what if this is too good to last? What if we're just dreaming?"
"Then I'd rather never wake up," Ryan murmured, kissing the top of her head. "Hazel, you're the first person who made New York feel like home. Not just a place I live, but a place I belong."
She looked up at him, her eyes reflecting the dim light with an honesty that made his breath hitch. "Sometimes I wonder if I'm enough. If I'll ever be enough."
"You are. You always were," he said without hesitation. "Even before tonight. This—" he gestured gently between them, "—just made me realize how much I love you. Not just when things are perfect, but when they're messy and real."
Hazel smiled, though her eyes shimmered. "Okay, but you can't tell anyone I cried during pillow talk. I have a reputation to maintain."
Ryan chuckled. "Your secret's safe with me. Besides, I cried a little too—internally." He teased, nudging her playfully.
She giggled, burying her face in his shoulder. "You're such a softie."
"Only for you."
They stayed like that for a while, wrapped in each other, skin against skin, heart against heart.
After a beat of silence, Hazel raised an eyebrow and grinned. "So… if we ever get a dog, what would you name it?"
Ryan grinned. "Captain Fluff."
Hazel burst out laughing. "Captain Fluff? That's your first pick?"
"Absolutely. Imagine calling that in the park. 'Captain Fluff, heel!'"
"God help our future children," Hazel teased, pressing a kiss to his jaw.
He smiled, letting the moment stretch out. Then, his gaze drifted across the room and landed on a small, framed photograph on Hazel's nightstand. It showed a younger Hazel sitting beside a woman—probably her mother—both laughing in a field of sunflowers.
"You look so happy here," he said quietly, reaching out to gently pick up the frame.
Hazel sat up a little, peeking at the picture. "That was the summer before I started high school. My mom took me on a road trip to nowhere in particular. Just... wherever the car led us. I didn't know it then, but it was the last carefree summer we had."
Ryan looked at her, and his eyes softened. "Thank you for sharing that with me."
"I want you to know all of me," she said, brushing his cheek with her hand.
Then, almost shyly, she reached to her nightstand drawer and pulled out a small, woven bracelet. It was simple—blue threads intertwined with silver.
"This was something I made back in middle school. I never gave it to anyone because... I don't know, it never felt right. But tonight, I want you to have it."
Ryan took it carefully, like it was made of glass. "Hazel..."
"It's silly, I know—"
"It's not. It's perfect," he said, slipping it around his wrist. "I'll wear it every day."
They lay back down, their fingers intertwined now. The silence that followed wasn't awkward—it was filled with the kind of peace that comes from being seen, heard, and loved.
Hazel turned her head slightly, her cheek brushing his shoulder. "Did you ever think you'd feel this happy again?"
Ryan looked at the ceiling for a long moment, his voice soft. "There were days I thought I'd never feel anything again. That I'd just go through life doing what I had to, faking smiles. But you changed that. You made me feel again. You reminded me that it's okay to hope."
Hazel smiled, tears threatening to fall once more—but this time, they were the kind that came from healing.
Outside, the city that never slept kept humming. But in their small corner of it, wrapped in blankets and whispered promises, Ryan and Hazel had found a stillness that felt sacred.
Their future wasn't certain. It never had been. But as long as they had moments like this—heartbeats shared between kisses, fears soothed with touch, dreams spoken aloud—they knew they could face whatever came next.
Together.