CHAPTER 255

**WINTER**

“You have to admit, Snowflake,” Zion drawled, his grin crooked and way too pleased with himself, 

“It would’ve been fun testing your nursing skills under… more extreme conditions.”

I huffed, rolling my eyes, cheeks flushing despite myself. 

“Extreme conditions? You nearly gave me a heart attack tonight, and you want to ‘test’ me?”

He just grinned—that grin. 

Boyish, reckless, infuriating. 

The one that made it so damn hard to stay mad.

“Exactly. Admit it—I make life interesting.”

I shook my head, muttering under my breath, 

“You’re unbelievable,” while my hands kept working, cleaning the wound carefully. 

But inside, my chest was still tight. 

My heart hadn’t stopped its uneven rhythm since the moment I saw the blood.

On what could’ve happened. 

On what still could.

He caught me looking at him, and his grin softened—not serious, not entirely, but quieter. 

“Hey,” he murmured, voice low and steady, the teasing momentarily stripped away.

“I’m fine.”

I forced a smile that didn’t quite reach my eyes.

“Yeah,” I lied, my throat tight. 

“I know…”

But what if that blade had landed somewhere else? 

Somewhere that I couldn’t fix with a bandage and a shaky laugh?

He didn’t push. 

Just let that familiar, infuriating smirk curl back onto his lips as he tapped the space beside him, effortlessly shifting the mood.

“Now… how about you give your patient the very best tender, loving care?” he murmured, voice warm and shameless, like trouble wrapped in silk.

I arched a brow, not missing a beat. “How about I just bandage your mouth instead?”

His grin spread slowly and wickedly, that infuriating mix of charm and trouble lighting up his eyes. His fingers drummed lazily against the sheets like a devil tapping out temptation.

“Mmm… dangerous offer, Snowflake,” he drawled, leaning in just a fraction. 

“But if you really want to shut me up…” His voice dropped lower, rougher, 

“All you have to do is put your mouth on mine.”

I sank down beside him, pretending to roll my eyes, but the moment I sat, my heart twisted painfully in my chest. 

Because for him, this was another night he could joke through. 

For me… it was a night I’d almost lost him. 

And that thought clawed at something deep inside me, something that wouldn’t let go.

I tried to match his energy—the teasing, the banter, the lightness—but my hands betrayed me. 

They shook—my hands—so badly I almost dropped the bandages. 

The sting behind my eyes came before I could stop it, and a single tear slipped down my cheek, warm and humiliating. I swiped it away in a heartbeat, forcing my breath to steady. 

“Sit still,” I muttered, the words catching halfway in my throat as I reached for the cotton. 

A shaky laugh escaped me—too thin, too fragile—as I tucked my hair behind my ear, pretending I wasn’t seconds away from falling apart. 

Pretending my heart wasn’t still wedged somewhere between the beat that stopped when I saw blood and the breath I hadn’t quite managed to take since.

The moment the cotton touched his skin, the world seemed to narrow to the soft drag of my hand against him, the faint scent of antiseptic, the quiet rhythm of his breathing.

The thought of losing him. 

And worse, a crueller, quieter fear whispered at the edges of my mind—what if next time it isn’t him? 

What if it’s someone else I love? 

What if this shadow, this monster, takes more than I can give?

I pressed the cotton a little harder than I should’ve, desperate to anchor myself to something real. 

His warmth. 

His heartbeat. 

The proof that—for tonight at least—he was still here.

He let out a soft, careless laugh, the kind that usually got under my skin.

“Come on, Snowflake,” he drawled, lips tilting into that infuriating grin. 

“It’s just a scratch. You’re acting like I lost a limb or something. I’m fine. See?” He flexed his arm, just to prove his point, and winked. 

“I’m not that easy to get rid of.”

My throat tightened at the way he said it—so light, so thoughtless.

Like it was nothing—like he hadn’t nearly scared the life out of me.

“You make everything sound like a joke,” I whispered, dabbing carefully at his arm. 

“But this wasn’t funny, Zion. Tonight wasn’t funny.”

His grin wavered, the edges softening. 

Then, without a word, he reached up with his good arm, thumb brushing away the tear I thought I’d hidden. His touch was warm, gentle—disarmingly gentle for someone who drove me insane.

“Hey,” he murmured, voice low and steady. 

“I’m here. I’m fine. You hear me?”

I nodded, even though my throat felt like it was closing.

He sighed—half theatrical, half real—and tugged me closer until I was pressed against his warmth, the familiar smell of him sinking into my lungs. 

“You worry too much,” he said with a grin that, for once, wasn’t cocky but soft. 

“I’ve got you. I always will.”

And even as I managed a small smile, something in me whispered back: 

What if one day, that’s not enough?

“Earth to Snowflake,” he drawled, clutching his chest with exaggerated pain. 

“You keep zoning out on me. I’m bleeding out here—at least let me die knowing my personal nurse didn’t abandon me in my darkest hour.”

I shot him a flat look, pressing the cotton to his arm a little harder than necessary. 

“Your arm is scratched, drama king. Not amputated. You’re fine.”

He sucked in a breath, staggering back against the headboard like I’d just delivered a fatal blow. 

“Details, Snowflake. Details. You say scratch; I say near-death experience. And near-death experiences deserve special, gentle, completely devoted attention.”

His grin widened as he tilted his head. 

“Especially from you,” he finished, voice low and a little smug. 

“It’s your sworn duty as my girlfriend and nurse to save my life.”

I didn’t take the bait. 

I didn’t even look up. Instead, I pressed the cotton gently against the wound, focusing on the rhythm of my hands—clean, press, wrap. 

If I let myself answer him, if I let him turn this into another flirtatious sparring match, I’d fall right back into his orbit. And right now, I needed to breathe.

Somewhere between my silence and the steady drag of the gauze, his grin began to fade. The teasing softened at the edges, melting into something quieter. 

His eyes followed every small movement I made—fingers brushing his skin, breath catching when the antiseptic stung.

He reached up, gently curling a strand of my hair around his finger. 

“You’re cute when you’re mad.”

“Zion,” I warned.

He didn’t listen. He never did.

He leaned forward, brushing his nose against my hair, breathing me in like he couldn’t help himself. My hands stilled against his arm, pulse kicking hard beneath my skin.

“Sit still,” I muttered, though my voice wasn’t as firm as I wanted.

“I am still.”

“You’re breathing on me.”

“Yeah,” he whispered. 

“I like breathing you in.”

My heart clenched. I kept my focus on the bandage, but his closeness made it hard to think. A soft kiss landed against the top of my head—so gentle it made everything inside me go quiet.

“Zion—”

“Shhh.” His voice was barely there now, low and steady. 

“Just… let me.”

His fingers brushed down my jaw, tilting my chin slightly toward him. His forehead came to rest against mine, our breaths mingling in the sliver of space between us.

“You’re shaking,” he whispered.

I let out a breath I hadn’t realised I was holding. 

“Because someone decided to get stabbed tonight.”

He huffed a soft laugh against my skin, but there was something else beneath it—something raw. 

“And yet… you’re here.”

“Of course I’m here,” I murmured.

His thumb traced a line down to the corner of my mouth, slow and unhurried. His eyes held mine, not teasing anymore. No mask. Just him. 

“You always are,” he whispered. “Even when I screw up. Even when I don’t deserve it.”

“Zion—”

"I thought—” He stopped, the words catching in his throat. His jaw tightened, a muscle ticking as if forcing the rest out physically hurt.

“When that blade came at me…” His voice dipped lower, rough around the edges. “I wasn’t scared of dying.”

A shaky laugh left him—soft, uneven, nothing like the usual arrogant grin. “I was scared of not ever seeing you again.”

My breath hitched, the world narrowing to just him and the sound of my heartbeat pounding in my ears. “Zion…” I whispered, my voice breaking on his name.

“I can handle pain,” he murmured, quieter now, his gaze locked on mine with a rawness that stripped everything else away. “I can handle bleeding. I can handle whatever the hell life throws at me.” His fingers twitched like he was fighting the urge to reach for me.

“But your tears…” His voice cracked just slightly, and it felt like the air stilled between us. “Your sadness? I can’t handle that, Snowflake. I can’t handle being the reason you’re shaking like this. I don’t ever want to be the reason you break.”

“Zion,” I whispered again, my hands curling in the fabric of his shirt.

His fingers slid behind my neck, gentle but firm, grounding me. 

“I joke a lot,” he said softly. 

“I push. I make light of everything because… if I don’t, it gets too real. But tonight—” 

He drew in a shaky breath. 

“Tonight, I realised just how much I can’t lose this. You.”

For a moment, the teasing, the arrogance, the recklessness—it all fell away. And what was left was something raw, almost frightening in its honesty.

“You’re mine, Snowflake,” he murmured, voice low and unsteady. 

“Not in the way that cages you. In the way that makes me terrified of every blade, every shadow, every goddamn thing that could take you away. And I don’t ever want to be the one who scares you.”

I didn’t mean to lean forward. 

But I did. 

Just a little. Just enough to rest my forehead fully against his. 

My chest ached, but not from fear anymore.

He brushed his lips softly—barely—against mine. A whisper of a kiss, like a promise he wasn’t ready to say out loud.

“And yet,” he murmured, his head tilting onto my shoulder, voice soft now, 

“No matter what...You love me anyway.”

A voice drawled from the doorway, dripping with mock disgust.

“Yeah, she does,” Clark said, leaning against the doorframe like he’d been there the whole time. 

“Don’t know freaking why, but she does. Must be some kind of brain damage. Or witchcraft. Probably both.”

I nearly jumped out of my skin. 

“Clark!” I squeaked, heat flooding my face.

Zion’s grin widened like Christmas had come early. 

“Ah, my favourite hater,” he purred. 

“So glad you could join us. Were you spying on our tender moment, or did you just feel the love radiating through the walls?”

Clark snorted.

“Please. The only thing radiating through these walls is secondhand embarrassment. And the tragic fact that your Snowflake is in love with a drama queen who nearly got himself killed….”

“Hey,” Zion protested, clutching his chest in mock offence. 

“I prefer the term heroic bad boy with excellent hair.”

Clark rolled his eyes so hard I was genuinely impressed they didn’t get stuck. 

“Right. Heroic. Sure. Let’s ignore the part where you ran straight toward the knife instead of, I don’t know, away from it.”

Before I could yell at either of them, a chorus of footsteps echoed from the hallway.

Harry shoved past Clark first, waving an imaginary mic like he was narrating a reality show. 

“Aaaand here we have it, folks—the wounded idiot and the girl who loves him for reasons no one will ever understand.”

Ro followed, deadpanning, 

“I give it two minutes before he starts demanding grapes to be fed to him by hand.”

“Fifteen seconds,” Claire corrected, flopping dramatically onto the armchair. 

“Look at him. He’s already in prince mode.”

Ariel peeked in last, wide-eyed and gentle as always, carrying a small tray.

“I… brought some soup,” she said softly, holding it out. “Thought it might help you feel better… give you some energy.”

Zion raised a brow, grinning. “Aw, see? Someone cares about me.”

Harry’s jaw tightened, a faint edge in his voice. “She doesn’t care about you… She’s just being nice.” His glare snapped to Zion, sharp, protective—and maybe a little jealous.

I groaned, burying my face in my hands as Zion threw his arms out like a victorious king surrounded by peasants.

“Welcome, everyone,” he announced dramatically. 

“To my night of tragic heroism, excessive charm, and undying love from my Snowflake.”

Clark shot me a look, deadpan. “You really love this guy?”

I muttered into my palms, “Don’t remind me.”

Zion leaned closer, whispering near my ear with that infuriating smirk, “But she does.”

I shoved him lightly in the chest. “You’re insufferable.”

“And you love it,” he shot back without missing a beat.

The room exploded in a mix of laughter, groans, and Clark threatening to throw a pillow at him.

And for the first time that night, the heaviness sitting in my chest eased just a little.