Dangerously Close (Aris x Reader)

51) Pretty

Aris’s P.O.V

She fell into a deep, undisturbed sleep basically the second I wrapped my arms around her. I was sure of it, because I kept myself up for a while just in case something did go wrong. Some idiot won't do anything to hurt her, physically or mentally, while she's just resting. I'll make sure of it.

She’s lived in a state of justified paranoia for what has to be the majority of her time here. All thanks to some jerk who couldn't just take no and let her be happy.

She's supposed to be a light sleeper. She probably was in the Scorch, and she definitely was in the tent. Slowly, that seems to be leaving her. Like some part of her knows she's safer here than anywhere else.

“I meant it when I said I wouldn't let bad things happen to you, my secret poet,”I whispered, pressing my lips to her shoulder. She didn't even stir, her hands still holding my arms that were wrapped around her stomach, pulling her close to me.

I can't help but think about how it was my nickname that put her in this position. I’m sure she would have broken up with me the first night if he had just said what he wanted. The fact that she didn't mean he had been toying with her, getting inside her head.

She warned me that bad people could come for me if I was with her. And that’s fine. That’s to be expected when she has so many hits on her.

Me though? I’m not supposed to put her in danger. I’m just supposed to be me. Some random guy that’s lucky enough to love her.

I see what she meant when she said she couldn't tell me what happened that night. She was keeping me in the dark for a reason. The overthinking and worry that weighs heavy is not a good feeling.

Maybe if I feel it it lifts some of the weight off her. Maybe even all of it. And I know it’s temporary. When everything’s alright tomorrow we can go back to normal. I’m sure of it.

× ~ × ~ × ~ ×

I passed out sometime in the night. Not sure when. I just know I woke up to sunlight creeping in, obviously wanting us to get up.

It didn't matter though. I was still in my same spot, and she was still in my hold.

I have to wake her if she doesn't wake up soon. I don't want to, but I don't want her to get in trouble. I doubt she’d appreciate it either.

It can wait a minute. I can just cuddle her in bed for a little bit.

“I love you. I’ll always love you. I won't leave just because things get complicated,”I promised, finding her hands. Locking our fingers together, I rested my face in her neck.

With a halfhearted groan, she squeezed my hand, letting me know she was up. Squeezing back, I placed another kiss on her neck.

Sighing, she unwrapped my arms and turned over in her spot. With one of her hands under her head, she looked me up and down, her eyebrows furrowing in thought.

“You alright there?”

“You look older,”She said simply.

“I look older?”

“Mhm. Your hair’s grown out, and you're taller. More sure of yourself. Older,”She repeated, gently combing a hand through my hair, brushing it out of my eyes. “Still pretty though,”She whispered.

“Pretty?”

“Yes. Pretty,”She nodded.

“No one’s ever called me pretty before.”

“Well, I’m calling ya’ it. You’re pretty.”

“You're pretty too,”I promised. With her sometimes cold sometimes soft but always bright eyes, hair that was only ever down or in a ponytail, even her harsh scars that blended into her skin, she was pretty. Beautiful. Breathtaking. Perfect.

“You're the only one who’s ever said that.”

“And I mean it.”

She gave me a small smile before grabbing my hand. Opening it, she held it up, pressing her palms flat to mine. Before I could ask what she was doing she laced our fingers together.

My poet, speaking without words. That itself has to be poetry.

“Just so you know, I wasn't going through your stuff last night. I wanted to put your book in your bag as a surprise, and a note fell out,”I remembered.

“Aris,”She groaned.

“I couldn't help it. It seems like something you’d like,”I defended.

“I don't need another book.”

“I like giving you things though.”

“So what? Gift giving is your love language?”She sighed.

“Yeah. Probably.”

“What's mine then?”

“Nice words. You're a poet, remember?”

“You never let me forget.”

“And you absolutely love it.”