❝ if you wanna learn, for self-defence, i'll teach you, ❞ beau promises. not tonight, and not because he loves fighting, but he will. he hopes, desperately, that it's not something ella will ever need. he'll fight for her, he'll bloody his fists, before he ever lets anything get to that point—but he hopes, too, that that is never necessary. he's not a fighter on the ice, most of the time, nothing more than cleanly hitting someone into the boards, but there are times he's dropped gloves, times the cap on the anger he bottles up is knocked off and he explodes. in day to day life, he's even less of one. beau doesn't want to hurt anybody. at least not unprovoked.
but he'd do it for her in a heartbeat.
❝ mm, i know. you told me. ❞ god, he loves her. he loves her so much. it's so easy to kiss her back, to let his fingers tangle in her hair, to press lips to her forehead. he wants this forever, this closeness. beau had always thought he preferred being alone, that it didn't matter that he'd not had a relationship in a long time; he loves his friends, loves being around people, but he values his space and being able to retreat to the quiet. but ella is different; she brings him out of his shell when he needs it, and is a gentle cushion in the quiet he needs to recharge. her presence is always easy. even when she's drunk.
beau chuckles, shaking his head. ❝ nope. now, 'cause i reckon you'll be asleep the second you lie down. c'mon, sweetheart. ❞ he kisses her forehead and steps back so he can pick up her dress, shaking it out and folding it over a chair to be dealt with properly tomorrow. at least it won't be crumpled. while he waits he starts undressing himself, unbuttoning his shirt with fingers that only fumble a little, placing it with her dress. ❝ you good? ❞