Midnight Muse

Similarly to the centerpiece of his exhibition, the charcoal drawing in his hold is of two hands intertwined. His, with his rough scars and grafts, clutching tightly to a flawless hand, a more feminine hand.

My hand.

Knox shifts nervously on his feet. I can feel his eyes on me and all I’m doing is staring at the artwork, open-mouthed and awe-struck.

“I wanted to give it to you before you left for Seattle,” he explains, looking from me to the picture, more nervous that I’ve ever seen him. “So you can take it with you and have something that reminds you of us while we’re apart.”

Tears well in my eyes as my heart constricts in my chest. “It’s—” I choke, pressing a hand to my aching chest as if that’s going to be the thing that will make it stop feeling like it’s going to explode. “It is so beautiful, Knox.”

He breathes out a soft sigh of relief, just managing to move the canvas out of the way when I spring up and collapse in his arms, sobbing into his chest. It’s not even pretty crying, either. It’s full-blown ugly crying that’s fucking up my makeup, but neither of us really care.

Knox cradles me tightly against his chest, his lips peppering soft kisses to my hairline. “Shh, Princess. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to make you cry.”

“I’m crying because it’s perfect,” I say, pulling away. My fingers stay locked in tight fists, the fabric of his shirt balled between them.

Knox brushes my tears tenderly, wiping softly at my wet cheeks. He studies me, eyes glinting with concern as he drinks me in, calming me down. “You’re perfect. And I love you.”

“I love you too, Quinn,” he answers, his voice a rasp that makes me lean in closer.

And even though I’m too chicken to get a tattoo today, Knox is there, tattooed on my soul. He’s inked in the love that I hadn’t known I was missing until we met. Through all of the arguing, the late nights spent at each other’s throats and in each other’s arms, we found love.

And I fucking love Knox. So, so much.

“Yeah?” I ask, cheeks pinkening at his words. It still feels surreal, how we went from hating each other to loving each other so fiercely. I’m thankful for him every single day. “You love me?”

“I love you, Quinn Conroy,” he repeats. “I think maybe I always have.”

“That’s so not true,” I laugh wetly, trying to swat at his chest. Knox catches my hand in his and kisses my palm, eyes shining with adoration.

“Okay,” he concedes with a grin that makes my heart skip. “Maybe not always, but for a long time now. It’s us, Quinn.” We both turn to admire his drawing again before looking down at where our own hands are clasped tightly between our chests. His scarred one, my smooth one. Opposites, yet somehow perfect together. “I want us. For as long as you’ll have me.”

“Forever then?” I ask, because I don’t even need to think about it. I’m not letting this man go.

Knox nods, leaning down to kiss me. It’s an unspoken promise, one that settles in my heart like a tattoo when he agrees.

“Forever, then.”