Samuel's POV
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LATER THAT NIGHT
I woke up with a sharp gasp, heart thudding hard against my ribs like it was trying to escape my chest.
The dream had been so vivid—Angel screaming, blood staining her hands, and me lying helpless, unable to move, unable to breathe. The kind of nightmare that doesn't fade when you open your eyes. The kind that wraps around your throat and squeezes, whispering that maybe this time, it wasn't just a dream, maybe this time it was real
My room was dim, gray light slipping through the blinds. I sat up straight, chest heaving and blinked until the shadows softened.
Then I saw her.
Angel.
She was curled up in the chair next to my bed, legs folded, her head resting against the wall. Her face was peaceful, her breathing slow and steady. One hand dangled off the armrest, just inches from where my hand had been.
My lungs loosened. I could finally breathe again
I leaned back slowly, pressing my palm to my chest, grounding myself with the simple fact: she was here. Safe. Real. She had stayed for me
I didn't wake her. Not yet.
Instead, I watched her. The gentle rise and fall of her chest, the faint twitch of her fingers every now and then, like she was dreaming too—hopefully of something better.
Eventually, she stirred. Her eyes fluttered open, bleary at first, until they landed on me.
"You're awake," she whispered, voice still heavy with sleep.
"Yeah," I murmured. "Sorry if I woke you."
"You didn't. I was already kind of awake," she said, rubbing her eyes. "Bad dream?"
I hesitated. "Yeah."
She didn't ask for details. She just pushed herself up, came closer, and sat on the edge of my bed. "I stayed last night… just in case."
"I know," I said quietly. "Thank you."
Her hand found mine, and she squeezed. "Always."
---
Morning came in a slow golden creep. By the time we left the room, it felt like the weight in my chest had started to lift—even if just a little.
I insisted on making breakfast. She tried to argue, but I gave her a look that made her sit her ass down on the couch and behave. She still peeked in every five seconds, hovering in the doorway like she didn't trust me near a stove. Curious little kitten that she was
To be fair, I'd burned cereal once but that was history.
But this time, I was determined to get it right. Pancakes, eggs, toast. I probably went overboard, but whatever. She'd earned a feast.
As we ate, I kept sneaking glances at her—messy hair, sleepy eyes, oversized hoodie that was definitely mine. She looked like she belonged here.
She looked like mine. And I loved it.
She kept stealing food from my plate and making snide comments about my "cooking skills," but I just laughed it off and she stole another piece of toast off my plate.
"Are you kidding me right now?" I narrowed my eyes at her. "You literally have your own stack."
"Mine tastes different."
"How? It's the same toast from the same loaf, made by the same allegedly terrible chef."
"That's the problem. Mine was made by you. Yours was made for you. There's a difference."
I blinked. "That makes zero sense."
She leaned back smugly. "It makes Angel sense."
I stared at her for a beat. "You're unbelievable."
"I've been told." she says choking lightly on her pancake
I shook my head with a quiet laugh, but the moment pulled me right back in again. Watching her—seeing her alive, seeing her here—I felt something ache deep in my chest.
"Angel," I said, more serious now.
She glanced at me and must've caught the shift in my tone. Her smirk faded a bit. "Yeah?"
"You know I was going to say this before you almost coughed yourself to death, right?"
"Oh God, please don't bring that up again—"
"I like you," I said, cutting her off, but softer this time. "You know that, right?"
She paused.
"I had a feeling," she said after a moment. "You weren't exactly subtle, Romeo."
"Really? Thought I was being mysterious." I said sarcastically "And what did you mean, you had a feeling?!. I literally tell you all the time but you always find a way around it"
"…Okay, fair." She looked at me, her expression folding into something gentle. "Why now?"
"Because I've been scared, Angel," I admitted. "But I was more scared of losing you. I still am. I wake up and check if you're real. If we're real. So if there's a chance… if there's even the tiniest window where I get to be with you and make you laugh and protect you and maybe even steal your food back—then I'm taking it."
Her eyes shimmered. "Damn. That was a speech."
"I rehearsed it in my head at least twenty times."
"Well, do me a favor and don't ever rehearse again. I like you when you're stupid."
I grinned. "So… will you be my girlfriend?"
She picked up her fork, stabbed a pancake chunk, and shoved it in her mouth.
Then choked.
The whole thing spiraled into coughing, gasping, and her throwing me a betrayed look while I tried not to laugh.
Once she finally recovered, she swatted my arm. "You could've waited until I swallowed, asshole."
"I tried! I didn't think asking someone to be my girlfriend was a choking hazard!. You choked twice this morning already!"
"You're an idiot."
"I'm your idiot."
She rolled her eyes, but her smile was everything.
"Ask me again," she said, voice quieter now.
I didn't even blink. "Will you be my girlfriend?"
She smiled.
"Yes."
I didn't think it was possible to feel every part of myself ease at once, but that was exactly what happened. Like someone took the fear and the doubt and just… switched them off.
---
She stared at me for a beat too long after saying yes. Her eyes, usually wild with fire or mischief, were softer now. But behind that softness was a flicker—like something waiting, something dangerous, mischievous and electric.
I didn't look away. I couldn't.
Neither did she. I don't even think she was willing.
It was like the whole room shifted. The air stretched taut around us, filled with everything we'd been dancing around for weeks. Every stolen glance. Every time she patched me up. Every time I held her gaze a little too long or her hand lingered on my arm like she was thinking the same thing.
"Come here," I said softly.
I didn't pull her in—she leaned in on her own, her face close enough that I could feel the warmth of her breath against my mouth. Her eyes flicked down to my lips and I swear I forgot how to breathe.
And then she kissed me.
It wasn't hesitant or shy. It was a claiming type of kiss, just as I loved it
Her lips were warm, plush and urgent. She kissed like she had something to prove. Like she wanted to make me feel everything she hadn't been able to say out loud.
My hand slid to her waist, then up her back, fingers curling in the fabric of my hoodie as I pulled her closer. Her hand cupped my jaw, her thumb grazing my cheek as if she needed to memorize the shape of me.
She tilted her head, deepening the kiss. It turned hungry fast—like we'd been starving and finally had permission to taste.
She made this sound in the back of her throat—half a sigh, half a challenge—and it wrecked me.
My grip tightened just a little, anchoring her against me like I was afraid she'd disappear again.
She broke the kiss only to catch her breath, but her lips brushed mine again as she whispered, "Took you long enough."
"Don't act like you weren't dying to kiss me too," I murmured, lips ghosting her jaw.
Her laugh was low, breathless. "I still hate your face."
"Sure. That's why you're up in my face right now."
She pulled back just an inch, her forehead touching mine
"You taste like syrup," she whispered.
"You taste like toast theft and drama."
She laughed quietly. "We're really doing this, huh?"
"Yeah, we are." I whispered. "You're killing me" I muttered softly, my hand still tangled in her hair. "You know that, right?"
She didn't answer right away. Instead, her gaze flicked to my lips again and I caught the way her tongue darted out to wet them—an unconscious gesture that hit me like a punch to the gut.
Without warning, she closed the space between us, her lips meeting mine in a rush of heat.
It wasn't soft. Not like I expected. It was bold, daring, as if she was trying to say everything she couldn't with words. I met her with equal fire, my hands pulling her closer until I could feel her body pressed against mine, every inch of her warmth seeping into me.
Her lips were soft, but the kiss was hungry, searching, demanding. She kissed like she needed me to feel everything that was happening between us. She didn't hold back. She took control, tilting her head, deepening the kiss, and I followed her lead like I had no choice. Not that I wanted to have a choice anyway.
I could taste the sweetness of her breath, the faint trace of the syrup from breakfast still lingering on her lips, but it was the heat between us that overpowered everything else. She pulled me closer, and for a moment, the world outside us didn't exist. I could barely hear the sound of our breathing, heavy and fast, because all I could focus on was the feel of her—the way her body molded to mine, the way her hands slid to my neck, fingertips grazing the sensitive skin there.
I deepened the kiss, my own fingers tracing the curve of her spine, feeling her shiver at the touch. I was losing control of the space between us and I didn't care.
She broke the kiss just long enough for us to both catch our breath. Her lips were swollen, flushed from the kiss, and her eyes were darker now—heavy with something I couldn't put into words.
"I—" she started, but I stopped her, pressing my lips to her jaw, then her neck, savoring the way her breath hitched at the contact.
I pulled back slightly, my forehead resting against hers. "Angel," I whispered. "I can't hold back anymore."
Her breath was uneven. "Then don't."
I didn't. I kissed her again—slow, this time. More deliberate. My hand slid to her waist, pulling her even closer, until I felt her heart beating in rhythm with mine. Her lips parted under mine, and I couldn't resist the urge to taste her more—deeper, slower. The tension that had been building between us for so long seemed to unravel with each kiss, each touch.
It was the quiet moments, though, the ones where we both paused for breath, that told me everything. She didn't pull away. She didn't hesitate. She stayed close—pressed against me, as if she didn't want this to end either.
And then, with one last kiss, I pulled back, just enough to look at her face. The way she gazed at me—soft, vulnerable, yet so damn sure of herself—told me all I needed to know.
She loved me. I felt on top of the world.
She leaned in again, clearly wanting to continue but I stop her with a light peck on her lips making her pout "Kitten, we have to stop "
"I don't want to, I love kissing you"
I groan lightly as I tug on her hair a little making her lips part and my mind went blank. How pretty would her lips look wrapped around me.....
I shake my head and try to sound firm "I love kissing you too Kitten but if we don't stop, it won't end with us just kissing"
" I'm not complain--" she cut herself short as she realizes what I said "oh" and she steps back avoiding my eyes
"You can't back out now kitten, you already said yes. Remember?" I say amused at her sudden switch, gone was the girl that kissed me like I was air and now she was avoiding my eyes. Cute
" I know" she squeaks out before running off patting her flushed cheeks
She's adorable I muse.
Humming to myself, I clear up the table and do the dishes.