After a few more weeks of no progress, I start to wonder if this is what we'll ever be now. The remnants of a man clinging onto the strings of sanity he has left, and me cradling them in my fingers as if they're the most precious thing to behold.

I sigh, ignoring my tightening throat as I trace a finger over the cut of his cheekbones, willing myself to find comfort in the soft sound of his breathing. Amid his deep slumber, he turns his face into my touch.

I lean forward, my heart swelling at the sight of such a simple movement. "I love you," I whisper. I don't care that he can't understand me. Even if he never will again, I don't think I could ever stop.

...

Our days are so simple now. Theo and Samuel don't come in anymore and Sin still runs on instinct, but it calms when I come to him.

He paces when I leave. Bangs on the door so hard there are indentations in the steel. So I don't leave for long, not unless I have to get him food or water or to take a quick shower at Alyse's place. Sam provides most necessities, but it's hard to smuggle everything into the room without rousing Sinclair's possessive nature.

Scary Sinclair means I do most things for him. We hook up a hose to a spout in the corner and pour cold water into the plastic kiddie pool. I scrub him down with a sponge and pull clean clothes over his body. If he minds the temperature of the water, he doesn't show it.

I would care more that I have to do every single little thing for him if I weren't still so taken with the knowledge of him being alive. Even with each passing day, when I wake up and roll over and see his face beside mine, I want to cry out of sheer relief.

Sometimes I do. Sin doesn't really grasp what it means, so I'm not embarrassed. He just looks helplessly at me, brushing his fingers over my cheeks and bumping his forehead against mine in what he probably considers to be something of a resemblance to comfort. To be fair, it works each time, and he seems to calm when I begin to giggle over the fact that this half-savage beast is trying to soothe me when the rest of the time he's attempting to rip everyone's throats out.

I know it's not funny at all, really. I think I've begun to lose it a little. I don't care though. Maybe I can just be content with us being two crazy, slightly vicious fuck buddies for the rest of time.

...

He's eating normally again: both in the "feeding" sense, and legitimate food. The warm, rich tone of Sin's skin that I adore so much is settling back in, the tautness of his face filling back out as he begins to eat regular meals.

He's beginning to look like the Sin from before. It's bittersweet. Part of me expects the rest of him to return as his body fills back into its natural state, but with each passing day that Sin grows healthier, I feel as if the man I once knew is slipping through my fingers.

...

I laugh as he nuzzles his face into my neck, nibbling on the skin as I wipe the damp cloth in my hand over his bare torso.

I push him back onto the mattress behind him. It pales in comparison to his downy-filled bed back in the studio apartment, but it's far better than sleeping on the ground.

"Down, hornball," I say, snorting as he looks at me expectantly. "No sexy time. Bath time." I continue wiping down his chest, then move on to his arms and neck.

He lets me for a few minutes although he leers impatiently at me and finally grabs the cloth from my hand and tosses it on the ground.

I roll my eyes, reaching for it and making a sound in the back of my throat when he pushes it away with his leg so it's out of arm's reach.

I stare at him, hoping he can grasp how peeved I am. "You're annoying, you fine piece of ass, you know that? Even when you don't understand English."

Sin blows out a breath and it sounds eerily similar to an amused huff.

I stare disbelievingly at him. Is his lip twitching or is my crazy mundane-interaction-deprived brain grasping for straws?

Before I can think about it too hard, he's reaching forward and pulling me to his chest.

...

My heavy eyelids twitch as something tickles my brow, pulling me out of my deep sleep.

I squint in the low light, barely able to make out Sinclair's features as his face looks down upon mine. He leans on his elbow, his lower half curled around mine and warming me from the chill in the air.

I blink at him, surprised when the gentle touch on my face continues. His free hand is tracing over my eyebrows, then over my cheekbones, and down the line of my jaw.

The serious expression on his face never fades, but there's a hint of something akin to tenderness accompanying it. So I close my eyes again and let him continue.

He keeps brushing his fingers over my face, even as I'm dragged back into the heavy lull of slumber.

...

I grimace as Sin tilts the bowl back and smacks at the thick contents with the ferocity of a starved beast.

He lowers it from his face just long enough for me to get an eyeful of how the thick soup broth wets the top of his nose and around his plush lips.

He moves toward me, frowning at the two bites I've taken from my bowl and nudging it gently with the back of my hand.

I roll my eyes, taking another scoop of soup and shoveling it into my mouth. "I'm eating," I take exaggerated chews although it's mostly just broth with hunks of meat and peas. It's hard to feed Sin anything that he won't make a mess out of, so five-star meals will have to wait.

For the first time in the three months I've been with him in this state, he takes interest in the utensil between my fingers. I hold out another bite for him, nudging his lips until he leans forward and opens for me.

"Huh," I mutter, frowning at him when he stares expectantly at me for another bite. It's the first time he's tried to eat normally since he woke, so I lean forward and feed him another spoonful. "Don't make this a habit, okay?"

He stares at me, unblinking, then scoops me forward onto his lap so suddenly I nearly spill the rest of my dinner on top of him.

"Uh," I stiffen, unsure of what he wants from me. For a second I think he's reverted to his horny caveman-like state, but instead of trying to bang my brains out he draws circles over the bare skin of my back and peers down at me curiously. "Do you...want something from me?"

He glances down at my bowl, then back at me.

"Oh, you're so going to make this a habit," I mutter, picking up my spoon and shoveling a hearty amount in his direction. I'm not complaining though, not when I know that feeding him will mean significantly less mess to clean up.

But he grabs my wrist before it can make it to his mouth, his eyes narrowing.

"Not hungry?" I say, eyebrows raised.

He guides my wrist back to my face, leading my hand to my mouth. Sin seems pleased as I open and accept the awkwardly large portion.

He waits until I drop the silverware back into the bowl before meticulously grabbing it in his fingers, scooping a heap and raising it between us.

I huff. "So you do remember how to eat like a normal person." Guess it just hasn't been at the top of his priority list.

Instead of putting it in his own mouth, he nudges it against mine until I have no choice but to open or let it spill all over me.

It's still too much for my mouth, so I grimace as it dribbles down my cheeks and chin. Sin notices and tugs his eyebrows together, wiping his fingers over the bottom half of my face.

Is he trying to mimic the way I feed and clean him?

Half-shocked laughter escapes my throat. "You're trying to take care of me."

If he understands me, he doesn't acknowledge my words. Just wipes those fingers over my mouth again, causing more laughter to bubble through me as I bat his wrist away.

"That's sweet but also really disgusting," I say, reaching for the rag beside us to wipe down his hands and my broth-smeared cheeks. "I think this might work a little better for you, darling."

He lets me wipe him down before grabbing the spoon again and feeding me another large mouthful. My cleaned cheeks dampen with food again and I can't help the giggle that bubbles past my throat.

His eyes sparkle, his face gentle as he looks down on me. I have no idea what's going on in that head of his but for a moment he almost appears content.

...

Sinclair's head rests in my lap as he naps against me. The pillow that he blatantly disregards sits behind my back so the wall doesn't feel so hard.

I keep brushing my fingers through his thick hair. I know that if I stop, he'll wake.

He shifts a little in his sleep, the strands tickling against the bare skin of my stomach. I stripped off my shirt as soon as he decided to lay his head on me, leaving me in a pair of jeans and a sports bra. The man is equivalent to a living space heater and I've come to realize cuddling him with a sweater on usually ends in me suffering through a sweat-fest until he wakes.

Somehow this has become a daily event. He reminds me a bit of a spoiled child in his silent demand to have his head stroked as he sleeps, but it's far too cute to protest against. Not to mention that I've never seen him look more peaceful than how he does when curled up on top of me.

Ugh. When did I become such a sappy sucker for this man?

I stifle a groan at the cramp in my leg, trying my best to shift in a way that won't disturb him.

It doesn't work. Sin has always been a light sleeper, and he blinks up at me with those drowsy steel-colored eyes.

"Sorry," I mutter, continuing the steady strokes through his hair. I think it's more for my benefit than his. I like how silky it is, and I like the fact that he lets me touch it even more. "You can go back to sleep now. I promise I'll try not to move again."

His brows knit a little so I pause my steady rhythm on his head to reach down and smooth my finger down the wrinkle. "No? Are you hungry?"

Sin just keeps staring at me, his brow furrowing deeply.

"Uh," I say, leaning back because the look he's giving me is a little disconcerting. "You alright down there?"

He watches me for another long moment, his full lips parting. "Angel?"

I freeze, eyes wide as I gape down at him. Are the crazies starting to go to my brain too?

"Sin?" I whisper, my throat nearly too tight to speak past.

He rubs his eyes with the back of his hand, looking healthy and whole and...lucid? He seems to take in the fact that my cleavage is hovering over his face and blinks.

"Not that I don't appreciate the view," he murmurs, staring with blatant satisfaction at the sight of my boobs, "but where did all of your precious virgin virtues go?"

I gawk at him for a moment longer, heart beating wildly in my throat. And then the tears come.

I don't think Sinclair's ever seen someone ugly cry so hard in his life because he scrambles off my lap and tucks himself against me, looking oddly lost as he brushes the wetness from my face.

"Hi," he whispers, rubbing his thumb through the wet tracks over my cheek softly.

A half-hysterical giggle bubbles past my lips. "Hi," I whisper back. I sniffle, letting him hold me for a moment before reaching up to cup his large hand in my own. "I love you."

The rhythmic motion of his finger on my face pauses, his solid body stilling around mine. But then a smile breaks out across his mouth and it's so wide and real and alive that it nearly leaves me breathless. "I love you too."