Safe With You

To Hell With It

.~Alyssa~

The girls’ laughter fades to a muffled hum somewhere upstairs.

The house is quiet now — not the kind of silence that feels awkward, but the soft, slow quiet that comes when you finally exhale.

Greyson leans back against the sofa, his arm stretched along the back of it, eyes on me. There’s something in the way he looks — not possessive, not hungry, just… curious. Present. It makes my stomach twist in that way I haven’t felt in years.

I shift slightly, turning to face him. “They’re never going to sleep, are they?”

He smiles, that small, knowing curve of his mouth. “Probably not. They’ve been planning this since Tuesday.”

“They’re already worse than us.”

“Impossible.”

The joke lingers between us, but neither of us laughs. The air feels heavier now — charged.

He sets his glass down and moves just a little closer. Not much, but enough that I can smell the faint mix of his cologne and soap — warm, clean, familiar.

For a moment, I forget how to breathe.

“You look like you’re overthinking,” he says quietly.

“I always overthink.”

“Then stop.”

His tone is soft, but it settles somewhere deep in my chest. I want to. I really do.

I turn towards him, knees folding beneath me, one hand resting on the back of the sofa for balance. His eyes flick briefly to my lips, and I know he’s waiting for a sign — permission, maybe.

So I give it to him.

The kiss starts slow, careful. His hand comes up to my jaw, fingers threading lightly into my hair, tilting my face towards his. His lips are warm and steady, unhurried — as if he’s afraid to rush, afraid I might vanish if he does.

I melt before I can stop myself.

He pulls back first, just enough to look at me, his thumb brushing my cheekbone. “You okay?”

I nod. “Yeah. More than okay.”

The next kiss isn’t slow. It’s hungry — years of restraint unravelling all at once. My fingers find the collar of his jumper, anchoring myself there. The world narrows to the taste of wine and the sound of his breathing against my skin.

When he shifts, pulling me gently into his lap, I don’t protest. My hands slide up to his shoulders, feeling the tension there, the strength.

For a moment, I forget every reason I’ve ever had to be afraid.

He kisses me like a man who’s waited too long to be gentle, like he’s memorising the shape of every breath I take. His hands never wander too far — one at my waist, one tangled in my hair — always steady, always asking, never taking.

Somewhere between one heartbeat and the next, I break away, pressing my forehead to his. My breathing’s uneven, but my voice is steady. “Greyson, I—”

He stops me with a whisper. “Don’t. You don’t have to explain.”

He’s right. I don’t.

For the first time in years, I don’t feel the need to apologise for wanting something.

We sit like that — tangled, quiet, safe — until the world feels distant again. The rain outside has turned heavier, tapping against the windows like a rhythm just for us.

When his lips find the corner of my jaw again, softer now, slower, I feel it — not just desire, but something deeper. Something dangerous in how kind it feels.

And that’s when the fear hits.

It’s not sharp, not immediate, but it creeps in like a cold draft under the door. Every instinct I’ve learned tells me this is the moment to pull away — to reclaim the space, rebuild the walls, protect the heart.

He feels it too. His hand pauses against my back, and when I open my eyes, he’s looking at me. Not confused. Just understanding.

“Hey,” he murmurs. “You’re safe.”

Three words, and I almost lose it.

I press my face against his shoulder, breathing him in — the scent of rain, of something solid and human and warm.

“I know,” I whisper back. “I just… forget sometimes.”

He kisses my temple. “Then I’ll remind you.”

The rest of the evening blurs.

We move from the sofa to the fire, blankets draped around us, soft conversation weaving between touches and laughter. The girls eventually sneak down, half-asleep, demanding water and cuddles before drifting back upstairs, leaving us both smiling at how small the world feels right now.

When I finally stand to leave, it’s almost midnight.

Greyson walks me to the door, hands in his pockets, the picture of quiet temptation. “You could stay,” he says gently, not as an offer but a possibility.

I smile. “If I stay, I won’t want to leave.”

He tilts his head, eyes tracing my face. “Maybe that’s the point.”

The silence that follows is full — not awkward, not uncertain. Just full of everything that’s been building between us.

I step closer, and he meets me halfway. The kiss this time is softer, slower — goodnight, not goodbye. When we part, my lips are tingling, my heart unsteady.

“I’ll see you tomorrow?” he asks.

“You will.”

“Good. Drive safe, Alyssa.”

I walk to my car, and just before I get in, I glance back. He’s still standing there on the porch, hands in his pockets, watching.

For once, it doesn’t feel like being watched. It feels like being seen.

~Greyson~

I don’t move until her car disappears around the corner.

My chest feels too tight — that strange mix of want and peace I haven’t known in years.

Upstairs, the girls are asleep, curled into opposite ends of Poppy’s bed, limbs tangled, faces relaxed. The sight makes me smile.

Downstairs, the house still smells like dinner, like warmth, like something new starting to take root.

I pour myself a glass of water and lean against the counter, replaying everything. The way she laughed when I burned the garlic. The way she looked at me like she was trying to memorise something she didn’t want to forget. The way she kissed me back — not just once, but again, like she wanted to be sure it was real.

I’ve kissed before.

But not like that.

Not with someone who made it feel like forgiveness.

It’s strange, the quiet after she leaves — not empty, just different. Like the house itself is waiting for her to come back.

I look at the clock — past midnight. I should go to bed, but I’m too wired. I grab my phone, thumb hovering over her name, wondering if it’s too soon to text.

Before I decide. I hear the door.

~Alyssa~

The rain hasn’t stopped since I left Greyson’s house.

The rhythmic tap of water against the windscreen fills the car, louder than the music I haven’t bothered to turn on. I can still taste him — the warmth of his lips, the steady strength of his hands, the way he said my name like a prayer he didn’t know he was allowed to speak.

I should be home by now.

But the further I drive, the heavier it feels — the space between us stretching too far, too fast.

Every red light feels like the universe asking if I’m sure.

And the truth is, I’m not.

I pull over at a junction, the rain sliding down the glass like melting silver, and just stare ahead. My heart’s beating too hard, too loud, drowning out every sensible thought I’ve ever had.

To hell with it.

Before I can talk myself out of it, I swing the car around and head straight back the way I came.

My pulse races the entire drive, my breath shallow. I tell myself this is madness — that I’ll regret it in the morning. But regret feels easier to live with than the ache in my chest right now.

By the time I pull into Greyson’s driveway, I’m soaked in nerves and rainwater. The lights are still on inside, warm against the dark. I barely have time to knock before the door opens.

He’s standing there — barefoot, hair a little messy, in joggers and a t-shirt that does nothing to hide the muscles beneath. He looks surprised, confused… and then something else. Something softer.

“Alyssa—”

Before he can say anything else, I’m in his arms.

My legs wrap around his waist, my arms around his neck, holding on like the world might end if I let go. He catches me instantly — steady, strong, his hands finding the small of my back as if they were meant to be there.

For a second, all I can do is breathe him in. Warm skin, faint cologne, and the lingering scent of home.

“I couldn’t leave,” I whisper against his shoulder, my voice breaking.

He exhales — relief, disbelief, maybe both. “I was hoping you wouldn’t.”

He tilts his head just enough for our eyes to meet, and then his mouth is on mine — soft at first, then deeper, hungrier. My fingers tangle in his hair as he carries me inside, kicking the door shut behind us.

The world narrows to this — the sound of the rain, his heartbeat under my palms, the warmth of his body pressed against mine.

When he finally sets me down, I’m breathless. He reaches for a towel, draping it around my shoulders, but his eyes stay fixed on me.

“You’re drenched,” he murmurs.

“I didn’t exactly plan this,” I admit, smiling despite the tears threatening to fall.

“You never have to plan with me.”

The words hit harder than I expect. I can’t look away from him — from the way he’s looking at me like I’m something he’s been waiting to find.

He steps closer, brushing a strand of wet hair behind my ear. My breath catches as his thumb grazes my jaw, slow and deliberate.

And then he kisses me again.

This one isn’t cautious — it’s all heat and rain and months of unspoken things spilling out at once. His hands slide to my waist, pulling me closer, and I feel my heartbeat echoing against his chest.

I lose myself in the warmth of it, the safety of it. It’s not about lust; it’s about trust — about remembering what it feels like to be wanted without fear.

His lips trail down my neck, soft and reverent, and I hear myself whisper his name — a confession, a surrender.

He pauses, forehead resting against mine, breathing hard. “Tell me to stop, Alyssa, and I will.”

I shake my head, voice trembling. “Don’t stop.”

He doesn’t.

We move together like two people finding pieces of themselves they thought were lost. Every touch is careful, every kiss a promise he hasn’t yet spoken aloud.

When we finally break apart, the room is dim, quiet except for the rain easing into a soft patter. I rest my head on his chest, feeling his heart race beneath my ear.

“I didn’t mean for this to happen,” I whisper.

“I know,” he says gently, his thumb tracing lazy circles on my back.

“I didn’t think I could ever—”

“Trust again?”

I nod, unable to speak.

His hand moves to cup my face, tilting it towards him. “Then let me prove that you can.”

And something inside me cracks open.

We don’t speak after that. We just stay — tangled on his sofa, wrapped in blankets and quiet. The storm fades outside, and for the first time in years, I feel the world slow down.

When sleep finally finds me, I’m curled against him, his arm around my waist, his lips pressed to the top of my head.

For the first time in a very long time, I feel safe.

~Greyson~

I don’t move for a long time after she falls asleep.

Her breathing evens out against my chest, the faintest sigh escaping every now and then, like her body is finally remembering what rest feels like. I brush my fingers through her damp hair, careful not to wake her.

She fits against me perfectly — soft, warm, and real.

God, she came back.

I don’t know what I expected when I opened that door, but it wasn’t her, soaked through, trembling, looking at me like she’d made the most terrifying and necessary decision of her life.

And she kissed me like she meant it.

Every wall she’s built, every scar she’s hidden behind her strength — I felt them all melt under my hands tonight. Not gone, not forgotten, but eased. And that’s enough.

The clock on the mantel ticks past midnight. I should take her home, or at least move her somewhere more comfortable, but I can’t bring myself to. Not yet.

Instead, I just hold her.

She stirs a little, murmuring something I can’t make out, and I pull the blanket higher around her. Outside, the rain has finally stopped. The house is quiet — the kind of quiet that feels full, not empty.

I press a kiss to her temple and whisper against her skin, “You’re safe, Alyssa. Always.”

And for the first time in years, I believe it.