Rain is falling lightly on the leaves outside. I can hear only the patter of the droplets on the roof above us and Dimitri's slow breathing next to me. It's an impossible moment, somehow suspended on a blissful bubble of stillness.

If only I could keep it that way.

"What's this one from?"

I'm lying next to him, with every inch of my skin against his own. I wouldn't have risked popping our perfect moment here in the cabin, but each time fingertips trace the thin silver line on his shoulder again, my curiosity burns hotter. And I've never had all that much self control.

"Hmm?" he absently replies.

His eyes are closed and he's stroking my hair, his thoughts clearly a million miles away. Maybe he's reliving the last hour, as amazing as it was. Maybe he's just tired out, pleasantly stiff and heavy after the exertion. Or maybe he's just enjoying my presence.

"This one," I repeat, running my finger over the scar again. "How did you get it?"

Dimitri glances down. He has to crane his neck a little to see, and I marvel at the way his muscles bunch as he moves, outlining the tendons beneath the gorgeous shade of his skin.

"Oh," he says with a smile, relaxing back into the pillows and closing his eyes once more. "Training accident. Piotyr was messing around with his stake after practice."

I lay my head on his chest and snuggle closer. I'm warm and safe and happy here with him, but at the back of my mind, I feel the minutes slipping by like smoke.

"Didn't the instructors do anything?"

He leans his head so it rests on mine, and lightly brushes his nose over my crown. Tingles radiate across my scalp in response, and I shiver.

"Uh, I think he got detention. I don't really remember."

He sinks back into blissful silence, obviously under the impression that the topic is done. But I've just spotted another mark, spidery and delicate, arching over his ribs, only inches in front of my face. It's very faint; even with my dhampir assisted vision, I can only barely make it out in the dim light.

Almost reflexively, my fingers begin to trace over this one too. I keep my touch light, reveling in the fact that after everything, I'm lying here next to him, able to touch him so casually. It feels almost sacrilegious. I imagine I can feel the tiny ridges on his skin, as though by drawing the shape I can figure out the story.

He exhales above me, and in the next instant his grip is on my wrist, pulling my hand away.

"That tickles," he grumbles, tucking my hand safely up next to his face.

"Oh, sorry. I didn't know you were ticklish."

Wow. Things I never thought I'd hear Mr. Badass himself say out loud. I'm absolute delighted, but try to hide my smile. Nevertheless, the glare he shoots me breaks it free, and I grin from ear to ear.

"I'm not," he says. "You were just going over the same spot over and over."

My heart melts a little, at the adamant undertone in his glorious voice. We both know he's lying. I just wish…

I want to frown, but it would do no good. I need to enjoy the time we have, so instead I laugh.

"There was no tickling intended, I promise."

"Oh I'm sure," he replies, narrowing his eyes. "But once I find your ticklish spot, just remember that you started this."

Oh shit. "No, I swear. I was just looking at another scar."

"Hmm. Well you'll find plenty of those." He's silent for a beat, then: "Does it bother you?"

His voice is just a little too light to be convincing. I look up at his face, and sure enough there's a flash of uncertainty in his eyes. It's only there for an instant before he regains control of his expression. He's what, worried it will scare me away?

Inconceivable.

It could very well just be the afterglow of hormones, but looking at his face… something tells me that I'll never feel this about anyone else.

"Bother me?" I laugh, trying to hide the gravity of my thoughts. I stretch up to reach his jaw, and leave a trail of kisses along his skin. "I think it's hot."

I press another kiss into the soft spot just behind his ear, and I'm rewarded with his sharp inhale. The scent of his skin is euphoric, and the look he gives me would be enough to ignite any clothes I was wearing. Luckily they're safe from this fate, as they're all currently on the floor.

"This scar?" I prompt, trying to ignore the desire in his eyes, and what it does to me. "What's the story?"

He swallows, and his eyes shift away from mine. For a moment, I think he's not going to give me an answer.

Then: "Strigoi. One of my first encounters. She managed to get one last good hit in before I ended her."

My eyes widen and I shift to reexamine the mark, tracing back over it with renewed interest. The lines are so faint, but the placement…

"It looks almost like she scratched you," I say.

"She did," he replies. "Hurt like a bitch."

I can't contain my awe. "Damn. And you still staked her?"

"Beheaded. What's with the inquisition?"

I look back up to his face, where amusement quirks his lips up into a gorgeous half smile.

"Am I making you uncomfortable?" I tease, raising myself up on one elbow so that I can look down at him.

He's nestled into the pillows like the depiction of a god in a masterpiece, so beautiful that it hurts. I know we'll have to end this moment, so I drink in the sight of him, the closeness we have.

"It's just not something I generally talk about," he says quietly. "You really do amaze me, Roza."

"Oh, says you," I retort, reaching out to stroke his face. I feel the warmth of his resulting smile on my palm. I wonder if I should say the thing that's on my mind.

"I just…" I trail off.

"Rose?" he prompts.

"I…"

"What is it, Roza?"

"I know we need to leave soon. They'll come looking for us."

His smile dries up. "Yes. It would be better if they didn't find us like this."

There's silence as we both steel our resolve, to get up and get dressed, and abandon our sanctuary.

I take a breath. "Thank you. The stories, they make me feel like I know you a little better."

"You know me better than anyone."

My eyes meet his, dark as a twilit forest and shining with strength and tenderness. He places a hand on my cheek. And that's when I see it.

"One more story," I beg, straightening his arm out. The tiny scar shines like a talisman in the crook of his arm. "Tell me how you got this one."

He sighs.

"Please?" I beg. "We can get dressed afterwards."

"Maybe you should keep some for next time." His voice is quiet.

"That could be ages though."

"It could be. But…I don't want to end on this one."

I look at his face. He won't meet my eyes.

"Oh, I'm sorry," I say, going cold. "I didn't mean to push you. I'm sorry."

After a moment, he gives me a small smile. "It's okay. You're very sweet, Roza, wanting to know about my past."

"I really didn't mean to pry. I just got carried away."

He leans forward and gently kisses my forehead. "Really, it's okay. The past is important. But even more important is the future."

And retort is one my lips, about of course I should have expected zen wisdom even after sex, but he interrupts.

"You are my future, Roza."

And then we're kissing goodbye, sadly, tenderly. The moment gone like a flower petal on a breath of wind. Because the past has been so difficult, the present so complicated, and the future is murky and uncertain.

He breaks the kiss with a sad smile. "Could you pass me my shirt please?"

"Sure."

I watch him dress out the corner of my eye as I do the same. Yes, we're living in times of doubt. It's sad to experience such beauty and then to see it go by. But one thing is certain; Dimitri and I will find a way.

We leave the cabin together, ready to face the world we left behind.

Author's Note

Thank you so much for reading. If you enjoyed this one shot (or if you didn't) and would like to tell me why, please leave a review! I always love hearing your thoughts. Also, if you enjoy my oneshots, please feel free to favourite and follow. I do post them from time to time, and that's a good way to stay in the loop.

These are difficult times, of course. I've been on lockdown for a month now, and I'm missing my boyfriend almost as much as I miss pizza. I hope you're all staying safe.

The VA universe and the characters therein is the intellectual property of Richelle Mead