Inquisition, Indiana

I Seem to Remember We Made a Promise

Her arms embraced him, holding on like if she let go he would disappear, or the life would leave him again. So she held him, and pressed her face against his neck, sobbing violently now, the relief filling her so entirely that everything else was pushed out.

Weakly, Cullen reached up an arm and touched her back, and she let her grasp slacken enough that she could sit up, bringing him up with her. He rose, pushing his hand down into the snow for balance, and rested his forehead against hers. Blood still stained his face, clung to his stubble and had dried in the lines that gave him character, but he lived. He breathed.

“You were dead,” she murmured. “I would swear it.”

“That’s as may be,” he said, clearing his throat, “but I seem to remember we made a promise. One can’t just go dying and break a promise.” He tipped up his chin, and kissed her, and she held him around his neck, pulling him in and kissing him back, long and slow and tender, as the snow fell to the earth around them, and the sun broke through the clouds.

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