Matt tilted his head slightly as she disappeared up the stairs, listening to the soft rhythm of her footsteps fade.
When she spoke his name — “I won’t be long, Matthew…” — he smiled faintly, the sound of her voice lingering like a pulse he could still feel in his chest.
By the time he heard the shower running, his fingers brushed over the back of the couch, counting each heartbeat, hers and Mapone’s, steady and safe.
When the water stopped, he rose slowly, his voice just loud enough to carry down the hall.
“Take your time, Tasha… I’ll know when you’re ready.”
He smiled to himself, the faintest trace of warmth in his tone. “I always do.”
Matt heard the soft creak of the mattress before he even reached the doorway. The faint scent of her oils — clean, sharp, and somehow still gentle — met him halfway down the hall. He paused there for a breath, one hand resting lightly against the doorframe, just listening.
“Those oils,” he said quietly, his voice carrying that rough warmth she knew too well, “you always manage to find the ones that don’t drive me crazy.”
He stepped closer, the sound of her towel brushing over her skin drawing him like gravity. “You said you wouldn’t be long,” he murmured, smiling faintly as he reached the edge of the bed. “Guess you kept your promise.”
Her heartbeat jumped slightly — just enough for him to notice — and he leaned down, close enough that his words brushed against her ear.
“Now it’s my turn to keep mine.” He wanted another child. It was evident in his dead white eyes.
"I want another, my love..."