Page 131 of Kotori
His eyes drift closed again, but his grip on my hand remains strong. Not unconsciousness this time, just the deep sleep of healing and safety.
I settle back into my chair, watching over the man who fought his way through hell to keep his word to me. Outside, afternoon shadows lengthen across the garden where we made love less than twenty-four hours ago. A lifetime ago, when I didn't know what it meant to watch the person you love more than life itself hover between worlds.
Now I know. And I know that this vigil, this fierce protection of what's mine, is what love actually looks like when everything else is stripped away.
Just a woman, her wounded king, and the absolute certainty that some things are worth dying for.
Some things are worth living for, too.
38
Kaito
TheweaknessiswhatI notice first.
A week of enforced rest has taught me things about myself I didn't want to learn. How my right arm hangs useless in its sling, fingers clumsy from nerve damage. How standing for more than ten minutes leaves me lightheaded. How buttoning a shirt becomes impossible without help.
I hate needing help.
But watching Paige move through our morning routine of checking my bandages with gentle efficiency, adjusting pillows without being asked, bringing tea at exactly the strength I prefer, I'm starting to understand the difference between needing someone and depending on them.
She does it all without hesitation. Without resentment. As if caring for me has become as natural as breathing.
It's been a week since I woke up to find her sleeping, her hand still holding mine like she was afraid I'd disappear if she let go. A week of watching her manage the household, handle the girls'questions about my injuries, coordinate with Dr. Yamada about my recovery—all while never leaving my side for more than an hour.
She chose this. Chooses it every day.
"Your shoulder's healing well," she says, unwinding the bandages with practiced care. "Dr. Yamada says another week and you can start physical therapy."
I grunt noncommittally, watching her face in the bathroom mirror. She's focused, competent, her touch sure and gentle even when cleaning the wound makes me hiss through my teeth.
"Sorry," she murmurs automatically, though we both know she's being as careful as possible.
"Don't apologize for necessary pain."
She glances up at me in the mirror, her expression unreadable. "Is that what this is? Necessary?"
I meet her eyes in the reflection, studying the woman who's become essential to my breathing. "Yes," I say simply.
She nods and returns to her work, but I catch the small smile that tugs at her lips.
The silence stretches between us, comfortable in a way that should be impossible. Six months ago, I would have filled it with commands, demands, reminders of her place in my world. Now I just watch her work and try to ignore how right this feels.
"I need a bath," I announce when she finishes with the bandages. The words come out rougher than intended, carrying echoes of other mornings, other demands.
Her hands still on the medical supplies. For a moment, tension fills the space between us—memory of the first time I made that demand, the humiliation I inflicted, the way I used her body's responses against her.
"Alright," she says quietly. "Let me prepare everything."
She moves to the washing area first, setting out soap and a washcloth on the low wooden stool, then turns to fill the largesoaking tub. She adjusts the temperature with the same careful attention she brings to everything else, adding a few drops of hinoki oil to the water. No hesitation, no resentment. Just acceptance of what needs to be done.
When she turns back to me, her expression is soft but unreadable. "Do you want help, or..."
"I can't manage the sling with one hand."
It's an admission that costs me. The great Matsumoto Kaito, who commands fear and respect across Japan, reduced to needing help removing his clothes. But she just nods and approaches with the same gentle confidence she'd shown with the bandages.
Her fingers work at the knots holding my arm immobilized, movements careful around the healing shoulder. When the sling falls away, I flex my fingers experimentally. Better than yesterday, but still weak. Still limited.
