The morning light filtered through the thick curtains of Henry's bedroom, casting a soft, golden glow over the room. It was a stark contrast to the intensity of the previous night, a quiet reminder that the world outside would continue moving even after the storm they'd both just weathered. The air between them felt different now—charged with the remnants of their passion, but also quieter, more thoughtful.
Henry woke up first, his body still tingling from the lingering effects of their encounter. He hadn't expected things to progress the way they had, but now that they had, he wasn't sure what to make of it. He'd never been one for attachments. He'd lived his life as a shadow, moving in and out of people's lives, using them as tools for his goals. But Helena... she was different. She wasn't just another face in the crowd. There was something about her that drew him in, something that made him question the walls he'd built around himself.
He shifted slightly, careful not to disturb her as she slept next to him. Her body was pressed against his, her head resting on his chest. The rhythmic rise and fall of her breathing was a soothing sound, and for a moment, Henry allowed himself to just exist in the peaceful silence.
But peace was a rare commodity in his life. It never lasted long.
The door creaked open, breaking the stillness. Henry's eyes flicked to the door, his instincts already on alert. He didn't need to look to know who it was.
Oliver.
His brother stepped into the room, eyes scanning the scene before him. There was no judgment in his expression, just a quiet understanding. Henry had never been good at hiding things from Oliver, even though he tried. His brother was too perceptive, too in tune with the world around him.
"I take it you and Helena had a... productive evening," Oliver said, his voice tinged with amusement.
Henry didn't respond immediately, his gaze shifting back to Helena. He wasn't ashamed of what had happened—far from it. But this was a different dynamic, and he wasn't entirely sure where it was heading.
"Something like that," Henry muttered, his voice still hoarse from the night before.
Oliver chuckled softly, then his tone shifted to something more serious. "I hope you know what you're doing. This isn't just about the mission with Merlyn anymore, Henry. If you're going to be in this with her, it's going to get complicated. She's not exactly the easiest person to... handle."
Henry raised an eyebrow, his eyes narrowing slightly. "I know exactly what I'm doing, Oliver. And I don't need anyone to handle me. Or her."
Oliver held up his hands in mock surrender. "Just making sure you're not diving in without thinking it through."
The weight of Oliver's words lingered in the air. Henry knew his brother wasn't wrong. He didn't do relationships. He never had. But with Helena... it wasn't just about the attraction or the desire. It was something deeper. Something he hadn't felt in a long time. She wasn't just a distraction—she was a partner. And that, more than anything, scared him.
As the silence stretched between them, Henry's gaze shifted back to Helena. Her features were softened in sleep, the lines of tension that usually marked her face absent for the moment. Despite the chaos they were about to dive into with Merlyn, this was the side of her he found himself drawn to. The side she rarely showed to anyone.
Just as Henry was about to say something, Helena stirred, her eyes fluttering open. She blinked a few times, her gaze clearing as she focused on Henry. A small smile tugged at the corners of her lips as she stretched, her body unconsciously shifting closer to him.
"Morning," she murmured, her voice thick with sleep.
"Morning," Henry replied, his voice softer than usual. He glanced at Oliver, who had wisely decided to take a step back and give them space.
"Looks like I'm not interrupting anything important," Oliver said, before turning on his heel and heading out of the room.
Helena pushed herself up on one elbow, her gaze flickering to Henry's chest, then back up to his face. "I think we need to talk about last night," she said, her voice quiet but serious.
Henry met her eyes, his gaze steady. "We don't have to talk about it if you don't want to. But we do need to focus on Merlyn. We have bigger problems on the horizon."
She studied him for a moment, then nodded. "Yeah. But before we dive into that, I need to know where we stand. I've been in too many situations where things got messy because people didn't figure out where they stood first."
Henry thought about her words for a long moment. It wasn't the first time he'd been asked to define a relationship—hell, it wasn't even the tenth. But with Helena, it felt different. She wasn't just someone he could leave behind when things got tough. She was someone he wanted in his corner. Someone who could be trusted to stand by him when everything else fell apart.
"Where we stand," he said slowly, "is simple. You and me, we're on the same side. That's all that matters for now. We'll deal with the rest as it comes."
Helena's eyes softened at his words, and she smiled, a small but genuine smile that made Henry's chest tighten. "I can live with that," she replied.
She leaned in then, brushing her lips over his in a kiss that was far softer than the one they had shared the night before. It wasn't as urgent or desperate—it was a promise, a connection. A shared understanding that no matter what happened next, they would face it together.
As she pulled away, her hand lingered on his chest, tracing the lines of his scars and tattoos again. This time, her touch wasn't just inquisitive—it was affectionate. "Tell me about them," she whispered. "The tattoos. The scars."
Henry looked down at her, his expression unreadable. It wasn't something he shared lightly, but he could tell she wasn't just asking out of curiosity. She wanted to understand him—everything about him. And for some reason, he was willing to let her.
He sighed, running a hand through his hair as he thought about how best to explain it. "These aren't just marks, Helena," he said quietly. "They're... they're part of me. Each one tells a story. A story of survival, of choices I've had to make."
Helena didn't speak, simply listening as Henry began to recount the events of his life—of the years spent training, honing his skills, and making the decisions that had led him to the man he was today. He told her about the tattoos, each one representing a different chapter in his journey. Some were earned through battles fought, others through alliances forged in the shadows. The scars, too, had stories to tell. Each one a reminder of the cost of the life he led.
When he finished, there was a silence between them. Helena's fingers traced a particularly deep scar across his chest, her touch gentle but purposeful.
"I get it," she said softly. "You're not just some guy with a bunch of tattoos and scars. You've earned them. And you've earned the right to keep your secrets. I'm not here to force you to share them all. But I'm not going anywhere, Henry. Not unless you decide that you don't need me."
Henry looked down at her, his heart a little heavier than it had been before. "I don't need to make that decision," he said quietly. "I already know."