Unbreakable - A Beautiful Lie · (Roswell Fanfiction) · √

SEVENTY-FIVE

I'm not really sure how we got to the bed, but I'm rather sure Max had something to do with it. He had a tendency to move me around. Sometimes so discreetly that I almost didn't notice.

I pulled the duvet up over my bare upper body, looking up at the dark ceiling, waiting for Max while he 'took care of something'. The glow from him locking the door with his 'password' flickered against the dark ceiling and I instantly felt safer.

As if he was locking us up in our private bubble.

Neither of us had broached the subject of me pulling back earlier. I had initiated the kiss, it had quickly turned passionate and naturally deepened. But it was as if I could visualize the iron walls around my mind shaking against his love for me and my love for him. Not wanting to stay up. Wanting to crumble. Even if iron wasn't supposed to be able to crumble.

But in our case, I wasn't so sure.

Not ready to find out what that would mean, I had pulled back, interrupted the kiss. We had stared at each other with strained breaths circling us, but he had understood why I'd done what I'd done. Especially since we had just discussed my fears about reconnecting my mind to his again.

That's when I had weakened in his arms, tired from all the emotions, exhausted from holding back and not letting him love me. Not letting me fully feel him. That's when I had momentarily lost track of where I was and where my journey to the bed had bypassed my consciousness.

He was basically running back to the bed and my old self would have laughed at that, but the version of me that was worse for wear didn't really know how to react to that scene.

Pulling the duvet back, he crawled into bed next to me, positioning him on his back before he gently pulled on my right arm to drape my body across his chest.

"I forgot to tell you something earlier," Max started and my mind corrected him There was not really a good opportunity to tell me earlier, knowing I had been basically catatonic by the time he had removed me from that bathroom.

I wiggled around a bit to make myself comfortable in his arms. He hovered his right arm in the air above my back, to give me space to move (maybe he was even afraid that I might roll away again, and he was giving me the opportunity to do so if I wanted), but next placed it gently in the middle of my back, between my shoulder blades, as I breathed a sigh of contentment and let my body melt against his.

"Really?" I questioned, yawning and closing my eyes.

"Today is Christmas."

I didn't know how to react to that.

"I know it's not the best Christmas," Max said when I said nothing.

"But at least it's not in there," I filled in quietly, referring to our separate prisons.

"Yeah," Max replied somberly and let out a sigh. "But I had pictured our first Christmas together a bit differently."

Max Evans: With the power to surprise me.

I lifted my head and looked up at him. "You've pictured our Christmas together?"

There was incredible warmth in his eyes. "Yeah. Amongst other things."

My interest was piqued. "What other things have you pictured?"

"Our first home. Our wedding. Our children."

I swallowed back my tears. Not necessarily tears of sadness - even though his answer had a bittersweet touch - but rather his words had touched something deep inside of me. Something tightly entwined with hope. With future. With the tentative possibility of even having a future.