Love.
Weird word.
Dangerous word.
The kind that got people killed in Paradise, where affection was a registered weakness, attachment was a loaded gun someone could press to your temple, and vulnerability was the fastest way to end up floating face-down in the family infinity pool with an "accident" stamped on the coroner's report.
But fuck it.
Fuck caution. Fuck self-preservation. Fuck the part of his brain that kept screaming this is too good to be true like a paranoid backseat driver who'd already survived one crash and refused to believe the car wasn't cursed.
He'd already died once.
What was the worst that could happen?
A second death? Third time's the charm, maybe.
Enough brooding.
