Chapter 2 PERFECTION.

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CHAPTER 2

TW

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MAVERICK'S POV:

It's been days since Jedi's last panic attack, but if I'm honest, not much has changed. She's still quiet, still holding something back. Subtle. Reserved. Fragile in a way she doesn't want anyone to see.

I know I shouldn't push her to talk about it. I know healing takes time, that pressure only deepens the wounds. But God, it's hard just sitting here-watching her carry this weight like it's hers alone.

I glance down at her sleeping face, barely illuminated by the early morning light filtering through the curtains. Her features are soft, relaxed-peaceful, for once.

How can someone so fucking perfect not see it?

To me, she's untouchable. Ethereal. From the smooth terrain of her sun-kissed skin to those burning hazel eyes that shift between fierce and vulnerable like the tide. There's no one like her. There never will be.

She's my Jedi.

I gently stroke her hair, letting my fingers thread through the tangled curls she always complains about. Her breathing is steady, rhythmic-comforting. And without really meaning to, I start whispering words into the silence between us.

"Since you can't see how amazing you really are... I guess I'll just have to remind you. Every damn day if I have to."

My voice is quiet. Shaky. Maybe a little embarrassed.

"But... your eyes? They're the most beautiful thing I've ever seen. I could drown in them and never want to come up for air. And your smile-that tiny curve on your face-it brightens my whole day like it's nothing. Your voice? Annoying as hell, but I swear it's the only sound I never get tired of hearing.

"Your hair, your ridiculous messy buns, your dry-ass humor... All of it. All of you. You're the strongest person I've ever met. A whole damn star constellation in human form. And somehow, you light me up just by existing."

I let the last words linger, and I pray she's still asleep. That I didn't just say all of that to someone who'll never feel the same way.

But then-

"I heard you."

Her voice is groggy, but her smile is wide as she turns toward me.

"You're the best," she says, her tone teasing. "But you scare me sometimes. You say stuff like that and it feels like... like you're in love with me. That's crazy."

She throws a soft punch at my shoulder. It doesn't hurt, but I still let out a dramatic groan.

"Hey! I bare my soul and you assault me?"

She laughs, that soft kind of laugh she doesn't do around anyone else. Then slowly, she starts to curl around me, seeking warmth, security-whatever I've become to her.

She always does this after a panic attack. It's her way of coming back.

I lie still, letting her nestle close, my eyes tracing the cracks in the ceiling above us. My mind empties.

And then I turn my head to her, just to watch her sleep again. Her chest rising and falling. Her lashes fluttering as she drifts off.

She's perfect.

I know that.

All I need now... is for her to believe it, too.

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The smell hits me before the light does-

Egg. Pancakes. Burnt edges and all.

I jolt awake, heart thudding, until my brain catches up. The scent is real. Comforting. Familiar. I blink the sleep from my eyes and sit up slowly. A mischievous smile tugs at my lips.

She's cooking.

Which can only mean one thing-

Jedi's okay.

For now.

After everything we've been through this week, I think I've earned a little moment of peace. A plate of food. Maybe a chance to pretend we're normal.

She cooks when she's stressed. Always has. Says it keeps her hands busy when her head won't stop spinning. It's weird, yeah-but it benefits my stomach, so I don't complain.

I swing my legs out of bed, stretching just as she walks in. She's holding a tray piled high with food-pancakes, scotched eggs, fruit on the side, even juice. She went all in.

But then her expression shifts.

"We need to talk."

The words fall flat in the room like cold water on skin.

And suddenly, the breakfast doesn't feel so comforting anymore.

Maybe I should have known.

Of course, this meal was bait. A delicious scam, dressed up in maple syrup and false hope.

Still, I take the tray, careful not to spill anything, and guide her to sit. If this is going to hurt, I'd rather face it on a full stomach.

She sits down across from me, her posture too still, too practiced.

I have a weird feeling about this. A tight knot in my gut.

This isn't going to end well.

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