The pensive look on his face disappearing as he drags his eyes up to mine, “What if I gave you something else to think about?”

At first I think Fitz has inched closer because his breath now tickles the tip of my nose. But then I realize, as I drive my knee into the mattress and scoot, it’s me that’s moved to him, as if my body knows he’s a safe anchor to latch onto.

But I know, with the way he drags his hand down, his fingers searching for mine that we’re both guilty of moving toward each other.

I swallow heavily. “What’s that?”

The moment the fingertips touch, my pulse sprints for the finish line when the race hasn’t even begun yet.

Fitz threads his fingers with mine. “Me.”

The smoothness of his voice makes my eyes flutter closed and my body softens, melting into the mattress.

“It’s just you and me in here, Parker,” Fitz whispers. “You can’t control what or who is out there, but you know you have me here. Just like at home.”

It takes a lot of effort to push out even two small words. “I know. We’ll be home tomorrow.”

He shakes his head against the pillow.

“What?”

“I don’t feel like I’m not at home when I’m with you,” he says, and I swear, I think I hear relief accompany his words, as if Fitz is sitting for confession, as if he’s letting go of a secret that’s weighed heavily on him. “Not even in the beginning.”

“The beginning of all this?”

“No, Parker,” Fitz whispers. “The beginning of us.”

Fitz finds a way to move closer. Our noses touch. My brain tries to search for the moment Fitz is talking about, but it’s hard to stray away from right now. Because I can feel it—this is the moment the entire world is about to change forever.

And I want it to.

There’s a nervous tick to Fitz’s breathing. It pushes the air from his chest faster, hints of his breath tickling my lips. “Parker…”

His whisper is a final warning. But Fitz should know there’s a reason we’re in this situation in the first place. I’ve never been good at doing what I’m told.

I was right. The entire world changes in those milliseconds when our lips aren’t together, that space in time when we gasp for just enough air to keep going. I can’t worry if it might be for better or worse because there isn’t time to think about later when now has never felt more significant.

So I hold onto that, to Fitz, who has become my now, even if it's under false pretenses, who was my then when I had no one else.

It hits me—Fitz has been my always.