Justin's POV
I don't think I'd ever understood the word cute properly until that moment.
I'd used it before, casually, in safer contexts like in cases of babies, fleeting things that didn't ask anything of you. But standing there, watching Elena march into the bedroom with wounded pride and dramatic flair, something in me recalibrated. Cute, I realized, wasn't small or silly. Cute was power softened by vulnerability. It was strength letting its guard slip.
It was her.
I lingered in the hallway a second longer than necessary, letting the sound of the shower starting anchor me. Water meant she'd agreed. Agreed meant she was okay. Okay meant my chest could finally stop feeling like it was wrapped in wire.
God, I had been so scared.
