The Salt in His Skin

He nods, his smile blinding. “No matter what,” he echoes.

I kiss him again, my heart full. The ship groans around us, the metal sighing like a lover. We’ll be okay. We have to be.

Six months later, we’re sharing a tiny apartment near the base. Liam’s in the kitchen, humming as he stirs a pot of something that smells like garlic and heaven. I’m at the table, writing dive procedures. The smell of ink mixes with the smell of food, familiar and comforting.

I look up, watch Liam move around our little kitchen. He’s got flour on his nose, a smudge of something red on his cheek. He catches me looking, smiles. My heart clenches in my chest, same as it always does when he looks at me like that.

I push back from the table, walk over to him. He turns to face me, his smile widening. I wrap my arms around his waist, pull him close. He tilts his face up, offers his mouth. I take it, kiss him slow and sweet. He tastes like tomatoes and basil and home.

“Dinner smells good,” I say, when I let him breathe.

He grins, proud as a peacock. “My grandma’s recipe. You’ll love it.”

I kiss him again, just because I can. “I know I will.”

He swats my ass, shoos me back to the table. “Go on, finish your work. It’ll be ready soon.”

I go, but I keep one eye on him. He’s happier here, lighter. The fear that used to haunt his eyes is gone, replaced by something soft and warm. I did that. I put that light in his eyes.

The rules for cohabitation are taped to the fridge. Number three is underlined twice. Always wake the other before leaving. I’ve never been one for rules, but that one I’ll follow to my dying day.

Liam plates up the pasta, carries it to the table. We eat together, shoulders touching, the silence easy between us. The food is good, but it’s the company that makes it perfect.

After, we wash the dishes together. He hands me the last plate, pulls the plug in the sink. I put the plate away, turn to face him. He’s looking at me, his eyes dark, his lips parted. I know that look. I reach for him, but he dodges, ducks under my arm. He grabs my hand, pulls me toward the bedroom.

“Come on, old man,” he says, his voice rough with want. “Time for dessert.”

I let him pull me, my blood heating, my heart racing. I’ll follow him anywhere, this man, my man. Into bed, into the future, into forever.

We fall onto the bed together, a tangle of limbs and laughter and love. I kiss him, pour all my love into the press of my lips against his. He opens for me, his tongue sliding against mine. He tastes like garlic and tomatoes and home.

I lose myself in him, in the feel of his skin against mine, in the sound of his breath in my ear. He’s my anchor, my harbor, my home. I’ll never let him go.

Later, much later, we lie together in the dark, our bodies sated, our hearts full. Liam’s head is on my chest, his breath warm against my skin. I card my fingers through his hair, soft and slow.

“You okay?” I ask, my voice rough with sleep.

He nods, his head bumping my chin. “Better than okay,” he says, his voice a whisper. “I’m perfect.”

I press a kiss to his hair, breathe him in. “Me too, baby. Me too.”

The silence stretches, warm and easy. Liam’s breathing evens out, his body going lax against mine. I hold him close, my arms tight around him. The future stretches out before us, bright and full of promise. We’ll face it together, this man and me. No matter what.

I close my eyes, let sleep take me. The last thing I hear is Liam’s breath, soft and steady in the dark. The last thing I feel is his heart, beating against mine.