The Alchemy

The hospital discharged me after a few days, just to make sure I was fine, physically, at least. After everything that happened, I wasn't sure how to process it all. The fear, the helplessness, the overwhelming rush of emotions, it lingered, like a dark cloud. But Will was with me through it all. He refused to leave my side, even at night. His presence was my anchor, steady and unwavering.

He was sweet the whole time, holding my hand through nightmares and offering soft reassurances when I woke up in cold sweats. My parents and brother visited too, and a few close friends, but it was Will's touch that calmed me. He seemed to know what I needed before I even spoke.

And now, stepping into my house in Nashville, I feel a strange sense of relief and unease. It's like stepping into a new chapter, but the pages still feel fragile. I slip off my shoes, the familiar creak of the floorboards comforting me. I chose Nashville for the quiet. To rest. To heal.

Will joins me by the door, dropping his bag gently to the floor. His gaze follows me, as if he's checking to make sure I'm really okay. We've already had that tough conversation. The one where he apologized, again and again, for what happened. He couldn't seem to shake the guilt, but I understood. It wasn't his fault. How could he have known? He tried to help his brother, and his brother betrayed him. I'd been betrayed before. I knew what that kind of pain felt like, the disbelief, the confusion. But I knew, deep down, Will would never hurt me intentionally. That's why I forgave him without hesitation.

"Honey, are you hungry?" he asks, his voice soft as he watches me slip into the house.

"Starving," I admit, feeling the ache of hunger creeping up after the long hospital stay. "But I want to cook with you, if that's okay."

He smiles, and it's a real smile, the kind that touches his eyes. "I'd like that."

We fall into a rhythm, moving around the kitchen like we've done it a thousand times before. There's something healing in the simplicity of it, chopping vegetables, stirring pots, tasting sauces. It's as though the act of cooking together helps push away the darkness, replacing it with warmth. We laugh, dance to a song on the radio, and the world outside feels far away.

I catch a glimpse of him from across the kitchen, humming softly as he dices some herbs. He looks at me with such affection, it makes my heart skip. For a moment, I let myself believe this is what forever could look like. Simple, sweet moments like this.

We've gone a little overboard, making way too many dishes: pasta, salads, and chai cookies that I'm mixing in a bowl. But I don't mind. It keeps my hands busy, and my mind focused on something other than what we've been through.

As I mix the dough, I feel a warm breath against my neck. Will's arms snake around my waist, and I instinctively lean back into him. He presses soft kisses along my jaw, down my neck, his touch both comforting and electric. I close my eyes for a moment, savoring the feeling of his lips on my skin.

"I wish we could stay like this forever," he murmurs into my ear, his voice full of tenderness.

I blink, a little surprised by his words. I turn in his arms, meeting his gaze. There's no hesitation in his eyes, just love and honesty.

"Did I say something wrong?" he asks, concern flickering across his face.

"No," I whisper, shaking my head. "You didn't say anything wrong. I was actually thinking the same thing."

A slow smile spreads across his face, and I can't help but mirror it. I lean in, pressing a soft kiss to his lips, but Will deepens it instantly, his hand threading through my hair as he pulls me closer. It's like he's pouring everything he feels into that kiss, the love, the relief, the fear of almost losing each other. His other hand grips my waist, anchoring me to him.