~The Shy and The Stubborn~ (the santa clause)

Chapter 23: no regrets

A/N: thank you for your support with the last chapter everyone! I was a bit anxious to post it since it was so long, but I'm so glad you all enjoyed it. This chapter gets a tad spicy towards the end, though nothing too graphic. As always, enjoy! <3

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The incident at the dance had well sobered up Bernard as he and Justice left without a word. She hadn't said a word to him, and he didn't expect her to. He knew she was overstimulated, and embarrassed, and tired physically and emotionally.

So, he strapped her gently into the passenger seat of his red stingray before he drove her home.

Every now and then, he'd glance over at her - he couldn't help himself, he was so worried about her. Even with her makeup cried down her cheeks, now a salty mixture of eyeliner and tears strewn down her face, she still looked so lovely to him, like a painting, she was art.

When they pulled up outside Justice's house, Bernard killed the engine but didn't immediately move to get out. Instead, he glanced over at her. She hadn't looked up, her hands were still clutching the hem of her dress, the stained fabric crumpled under her fingers.

With a soft sigh, he got out of the car and walked around to the passenger side, unbuckling her seatbelt before scooping her up into his arms bridal style once again, using his foot to shut the door behind her before he carried her into her house.

As he walked up the steps carefully with her, he glanced down at her, her head leaned against his chest, dried tears staining her cheeks, her eyes and face all red and puffy, and he spoke to her in a soft voice.

"Let's run you a bath, hey?" he crooned, eyeing her affectionately.

Justice let out a shuddering breath, dampening her lips as she spoke for the first time since they had left the dance.

"...will you stay with me?" she asked him in a soft, croaky voice.
"Yeah, of course. Anything you need," he told her in a soft, reassuring voice, as he carried her up to the bathroom of her house.

He nudged the door open and turned the light on, sitting her down on the closed toilet lid, kneeling down in front of her and tucking some of her short, brown hair behind her ear, tilting his head at her ever so slightly.

"...you tell me if I'm pushing any boundaries, alright?" he asked of her in a gentle murmur.
"...how could I fault you for taking care of me, Bernard?" Justice sniffled with a soft chuckle even if she still sounded distraught, shaking her head at him.
"It's not that, it's just..." he began, trailing off a little as he rested his hands on her knees, looking down briefly before he met her gaze again. "...I didn't even realise how badly I wanted you until we were out on that dancefloor together. It felt like...I don't know, like we were the only two people in the world. And now that I know...just how bad I want you..."

Bernard trailed off again, his voice barely above a whisper. His words hung in the air between them, heavy but tender, as if he'd just laid his heart bare at her feet. He squeezed her knees gently, grounding himself as much as her. His eyes searched hers for some kind of sign, some kind of permission to keep speaking or to stop entirely.

Justice stared at him, her breath caught in her throat. The silence between them stretched, but it wasn't empty - it was brimming with things unsaid, with emotions she wasn't sure how to process yet. Her lips parted slightly, but no words came out, and she found herself holding his gaze like it was the only thing keeping her steady.

Then, she sucked in a trembling breath, dampening her lips and reached down, wrapping her hands around his own and giving them a gentle squeeze.

"...you know, Bernard. I used to be terrified of you," she began, her voice soft as she tilted her head at him, her gaze endearing as their eyes remained locked on one another. "...when we first started working together, when I was your scribe, then your assistant...I don't know, I just felt so small around you, so intimidated by you. I wasn't sure if it was just my crippling social anxiety, or if you were just a scary person.