Love Me, Don't Fix Me

After Elara left, the silence in Andrew's apartment settled like dust—soft but suffocating.

He sat on the edge of his bed, hands clasped together, head bowed low. Elara's words still echoed in his mind, refusing to be ignored. "You're punishing the wrong person." "She didn't do any of this to you." "You made her feel safe."

He sighed, pressing his fingers to his temples.

Nova hadn't burned down his house. She hadn't betrayed him. She wasn't the reason his family was gone. And yet he had thrown all his pain at her feet because it was easier than accepting the truth—that he was terrified. Terrified of losing someone again. Terrified of loving someone with ties to the same world that destroyed him.

But Elara was right.

Nova was his light. She had shown him what love could feel like again. Warm. Soft. Real. She didn't ask for anything from him—just to be seen. To be accepted. To be loved in return. And he did. He had always loved her. Even now, his chest still ached with it.

He took a shaky breath and reached for his phone. His hands trembled as he typed, but his heart felt steady for the first time in days.

ANDREW: Are you free tonight?

He stared at the message for a second before hitting send.

A moment later, the screen lit up.

NOVA: Of course I am.

His lips curved into a genuine smile—his first in days.

ANDREW: Let's meet up.

There was a pause, and then her response came, quick and sure.

NOVA: I'm on my way.

He chuckled softly and tossed his phone aside, running a hand through his messy hair. There was nothing grand about what he had to offer. No fancy dinners, no luxury cars, no security details. Just him. His broken past. His quiet heart. But Nova had loved him anyway.

He wasn't going to let her slip through his fingers again.

---

One Hour Later

The knock on the door came like a heartbeat, soft but certain.

Andrew stood from the couch, his nerves prickling. He had cleaned up a little—threw on a plain grey t-shirt, ran water through his hair, and even lit a cinnamon candle Nova had once said reminded her of home. The apartment still looked modest, but it smelled like comfort.

He opened the door.

And there she was.

Nova stood in the hallway, her chest rising and falling like she had sprinted through traffic just to get to him. Her cheeks were pink from the rush, her messy bun loosening, a few strands falling across her face. Her eyes were glassy but bright, filled with everything she hadn't been able to say.

"Hi," he said softly.

She didn't respond. She just launched herself into his arms.

Andrew caught her without hesitation, holding her tightly, anchoring her like she was the only thing keeping him upright. Her arms wrapped around his neck, her face pressed against his shoulder, and for a moment, neither of them spoke. They just breathed.

"I missed you," she whispered against his skin, her voice thick with emotion.

"Me too," he replied, his own voice rough. "So much."

She pulled back, her eyes searching his, and then she smiled—small, hopeful, like the sunrise after a storm. "So... what now?"

He cupped her cheek gently, brushing away a tear that had slipped down without permission. "Let's start over."

Her face lit up.

She squealed softly—half-laugh, half-sob—and didn't wait for him to say anything else. She rose onto her toes and kissed him. Desperately. Like her heart had been starving for it.

Andrew kissed her back just as fiercely, arms locking around her waist, pulling her flush against him. The kiss was everything their silence had hidden—months of stolen glances, painful misunderstandings, aching love. There was no hesitation. No fear. Just two people trying to rebuild something beautiful in the ruins of what they'd almost lost.

When they finally broke apart, Nova rested her forehead against his, her hands still tangled in the collar of his shirt. "I thought I'd lost you."

"I almost let you go," he said. "But I'm not that stupid."

She smiled through the tears.

He took her hand and led her inside, gently shutting the door behind them.

The world outside faded away.

Inside, they were just Nova and Andrew. Two scarred souls with hearts full of love. Starting again, not from scratch—but from something stronger. Something real.

And this time, they wouldn't let the past decide their future.

Nova straddled Andrew's lap as he sat on the edge of his bed, his arms instinctively wrapping around her waist as if afraid she might disappear again. Their foreheads rested together for a brief moment, their breaths mingling in the quiet space between them. It wasn't just passion—they were drinking each other in, grounding themselves in the reality that they were finally together again.

"I still can't believe I'm here," Nova whispered, brushing a hand along his jaw, her fingers tracing the line of stubble that had grown in the last few days. "I thought I'd lost you for good."

"You almost did," he admitted, resting his palm gently on the small of her back. "But I couldn't stop thinking about you. I couldn't stop missing you."

She leaned forward, her lips brushing over his softly—slowly—like she was rediscovering something sacred. Andrew responded with quiet desperation, cupping the side of her face as he kissed her deeper, his heart thudding loudly against his chest. His hands roamed up her spine and down again, memorizing the shape of her, the warmth, the truth of her presence.

Their kiss deepened, no longer just reconciliation—it was need, it was longing, it was love in its rawest form.

Nova broke the kiss just long enough to tug her shirt over her head, tossing it carelessly aside. She sat there in her bra, heart pounding, eyes meeting his with a mix of nervousness and determination.

"You don't have to—" Andrew began, but she pressed a finger gently to his lips.

"I want to," she whispered. "Not because I feel pressured, not because we're trying to fix something… but because I love you. And right now, I just want to be close to you. I want to feel like I belong somewhere, with someone."

Andrew stared at her for a long, silent moment—his eyes warm, reverent, full of emotion.

"You do," he said softly. "You always have."

He wrapped his arms around her again, pulling her into his chest, holding her like something fragile and precious. His fingers skimmed her bare back as they kissed again, slow and deep, lips moving in perfect sync. His touch wasn't hurried—he was memorizing, cherishing. This wasn't just physical. It was emotional. Vulnerable. It was two souls who had been broken by life finding solace in each other.

Nova felt like she was melting into him—like every piece of her that had been bruised, cracked, and battered over the last few days was finally being cradled in warmth and acceptance.

Her fingers reached for the hem of his shirt, tugging it up and over his head. She let her eyes roam over the scar on his shoulder, the faint bruising near his ribs from a clumsy fall last week at the café, the realness of him.

He wasn't perfect.

Neither was she.

But somehow, that made what they had even more beautiful.

He kissed her shoulder, her collarbone, her neck—each touch soft and slow, as if he were writing poetry on her skin. She threaded her fingers through his hair, her breath hitching every time his lips moved lower, every time his hands explored new paths along her sides and hips.

Their kisses turned messy—clumsy at times—interrupted by laughter, deep sighs, whispered apologies and breathless gasps. It wasn't flawless. But it was real.

And that made it perfect.

Andrew's hands gently moved up and down Nova's thighs, his touch reverent—almost hesitant. He wasn't rushing anything, simply taking his time, as if memorizing every curve, every soft breath she took. She looked into his eyes and saw it—love, respect, patience. There was no pressure in his touch, only warmth.

Nova swallowed hard, her heart pounding. He helped her out of her shorts slowly, carefully, never breaking eye contact, like he was silently asking, Are you sure? She gave a small nod, and he guided her back onto the bed with the same gentleness he'd show something breakable.

His kisses trailed from her collarbone to her throat, soft and slow, making her breath catch. She trembled as he kissed the swell of her chest, brushing his lips over her skin like she was something sacred. When his lips reached her breast, her breath hitched involuntarily. It was overwhelming—the way her body reacted to him, to the care and intensity of his touch.

She had never felt anything like this before.

She had never been touched like this before.

This wasn't just new—it was uncharted territory. Her entire body buzzed with nerves and emotion. She'd saved herself for something that felt real, for someone who saw all of her and didn't run away. And here he was—Andrew. The boy who held her heart and didn't even know how tightly he held it.

His kisses moved lower, grazing over her belly, his hands never leaving her skin. She gasped as his lips met the sensitive spot just above her waistline, her body responding with a mixture of anticipation and fear. He paused, lifting his head to look at her—checking, waiting.

"Is this okay?" he asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

She nodded. She couldn't speak—her voice caught in her throat. But she wanted this. She wanted him.

He reached for the hem of her panties, tugging them down slowly, watching her the entire time. Now she was completely bare beneath him. A flush of heat rushed to her face and she instinctively covered her face with both hands, embarrassed beyond words.

She had never been naked in front of anyone before.

"Don't cover your face," Andrew said gently, his hand brushing over her wrist. "Please."

She shook her head. "It's just… weird. I've never—this is my first time."

Andrew's eyes softened. He sat up slightly, brushing a strand of hair from her cheek as he coaxed her hands away.

"Are you… a virgin?" he asked carefully, not out of judgment, but surprise.

"Uhm… yeah," she said, biting her bottom lip. "Is that… a problem?"

"No," he said immediately, shaking his head. "Not at all. I just… wasn't expecting that."

Nova exhaled slowly. "My dad scared off every guy who even looked at me. So… yeah. You're my first boyfriend. And… my first kiss too."

Andrew blinked, visibly stunned.

She smiled faintly. "Guess you're kind of a big deal."

He laughed softly, and then his hand cradled her face, his thumb brushing her cheek. "I'll be gentle," he said, kissing her forehead. "I promise."

She nodded again, her heart thundering.

He kissed her deeply, his lips slow and searching, grounding her in the moment. Then, with utmost care, he trailed kisses down her body again, pausing at her thighs. He parted her legs delicately, placing soft kisses on her inner thighs, making her shiver under his touch.

There was no rush. No demand. Just love, patience, and the kind of vulnerability that made everything around them blur into nothing.