The song for this chapter is Holiest by Glass Animals :) Enjoy!

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But you're the holiest thing I know Yes, you're the holiest thing, holiest thing I know

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Harry

I couldn't believe what I had just done. Tate's face was still in my hands. Her soft, beautiful face.

I was the same person who had told the rest of the boys that it didn't matter how beautiful she was, she was just a mission and we all needed to stay focused and keep our hands off of her. What a fucking hypocrite I am.

Tate infuriated me half of the time. She was bold and defiant, something I didn't have to deal with often in my line of work. Most of the time people were shaking and crying around me, they never talked back to me or tried to put me in my place.

She was genuine and brutally honest, she didn't lie to me to make sure I didn't get pissed off, I think part of her hoped that she did piss me off.

She was gentle, innocent, and naive, a complete opposite of me.

   The bourbon in my system had betrayed me, and revealed thoughts to her that I had tried to hide even from myself. Like the fact that I had a random urge to protect her. I had noticed it for the first time when we were at the safe house. Hearing Will talk about her that way made my blood boil and I had no fucking idea why. And when I saw the fear in her eyes when Quinton's men showed up, when I saw her trembling body in that kitchen, it made my heart physically ache.

   I hadn't wanted to shelter or protect anything since the night my mother had died. Sure I looked out for Abel and the other guys, but my heart didn't ache for them as it did for Tate. I had known those guys for years, and I had known Tate for all of ten seconds before she completely flipped my world upside down without my consent or my knowledge of it even occurring.

   I had slept with my fair share of women, I had kissed them and touched them and fucked them, and not once did I ever feel a connection with any of them. None of them dared to get close to me either, I wouldn't let them. We had one thing in mind and one thing only, and I liked it that way.

    But Tate, she called me out on my bullshit. She spoke everything that was on her mind. She was smart, she seemed to read my moods better than the people I spent everyday with.

   I guess one of the other moments I knew I was fucked was when she tried to escape last night. When I broke the lock open to my room and my eyes caught hers, I saw how broken she looked in that moment. I saw how afraid of me she looked, and it made my heart twist around inside my chest. I hated it. I hated how she was so desperate to escape she didn't care if she broke her leg from the jump out of the window.  I hated how defeated she was when I caught her before she fell, how absolutely pitiful her voice sounded as I pulled her back inside. I hated seeing the tears streaming down her beautiful face, and she cried and told me that she knew no matter what happened, she would die.

And I hated how she thought that I would ever hurt her mother.

   It wasn't really until that night when she told me she knew that she was going to die, that I realized that I didn't want her to. I didn't want her to be killed by my hands, or anyone else's. I wanted her to be safe. I wished that she had never picked up my knife, I wished that she had never gotten involved with this. I wished she had never gotten involved with me.

  She was the holiest thing I knew, and if I wasn't careful, I was going to ruin her.

This was all my fault, not hers as I had said it was before I kissed her. I shouldn't have brought alcohol into this situation. If I hadn't had those drinks, I don't think I ever would have done this. I would have been able to go about my life, suppressing all my emotions as I had been, and completed this mission with no fuck ups.

I think it was safe to say that I had definitely fucked up.

Something about the way she was speaking to me tonight, the way that she was so brutally honest and raw as she shared her pain with me, it made me want to just shut her up and kiss away all of her problems. But in doing that, I had created an even bigger problem.

I rubbed my thumbs gently across her face, and pulled my forehead away from hers, staring into those big hazel eyes of hers. To most people, they would say that her eyes were brown, but I always looked closer at my surroundings, and I had instantly picked up on the flecks of green dancing around in her irises. Her eyelashes were long and dark, wet with tears as she stared up at me, looking just as lost as I felt.

    I knew that if she hadn't had the alcohol in her system either, she wouldn't have let me kiss her, and she definitely wouldn't have kissed me back. I wished so desperately that I had never kissed those soft, plump lips of hers. Because now I knew what kissing her felt like, and I knew that I had to learn to live without it.

  I prayed silently that in the morning, my soberness would come paired with some revelation that this was all a drunken mistake. That it meant nothing. Because then I wouldn't have to pretend it didn't and continue to hurt her more than I already had.

I meant it when I said that we shouldn't have done this. I meant it with every fiber of my being, and I think Tate meant it too when she said that she knew we shouldn't have done it either.

But we did do it. And neither of us could take that back. We just had to go back to business as usual. But for tonight, for one night and one night only, we could play pretend.

She blinked up at me, her eyes red from crying, the tip of her nose a similar rosy shade. She still looked beautiful, she always did. Whether she was dressed up in her work clothes at the restaurant, or if she was in a t-shirt and shorts with no makeup and tears streaming down her face and bourbon on her breath. She was beautiful, down to her very core.

  I cleared my throat and took a deep breath.

"It's getting late," I mumbled, and she nodded her head at me.

"It is, we better go to sleep before the morning catches up with us," she whispered back, and I knew what she really meant. She meant before we sobered up and were forced to go back to the way things were. Back to the reality that we had temporarily escaped.

I placed my hand on the small of her back and turned her towards the stairs. We were silent as we walked to them, although this silence was different than it usually was. The silence we were used to was because neither of us wanted to actually talk about what was going through our heads. We were silent now because we knew what was going through our heads, and neither of us could take it back.

    We went up the stairs and into my room, the bed still unmade from this morning, the pillow wall I had placed between us last night to block both physical and emotional contact from Tate right where I had left it.

   Tate began walking to her side of the bed. It felt so weird to even think of it like that. It was my bed, and she was only sleeping in here with me because she had tried to escape. But in my mind, under the influence of my emotions and the bourbon, it was her side of the bed now.

  She moved the cushion off the middle of the bed to the floor, reaching under the covers and pulling the sheets that we had both kicked down to the end of the bed back up. She pulled the duvet up farther and smoothed it out a bit with her hands, and I couldn't help but laugh that even as inebriated as she was, she still took the time to make the bed before getting into it.

  She perked up at the sound of my laughter, and even in the faint moonlight streaming in through the window, I could tell she was blushing. I loved that I had that effect on her. I loved watching her cheeks flush whenever I made an inappropriate comment, or if I was sitting too close to her or poking fun at her.

   I smiled at her and saw her lips slightly turn upwards. She looked away sheepishly, before gently pulling the covers back and sliding under the sheets, clearly too tired and far too drunk to bother changing her clothes. She was facing the window, with her back towards me, her long dark waves spilling out across the pillowcase.

  I never took time to admire other women the way that I admired Tate. I could acknowledge other women's attractiveness, but I never paused to think about the little things. With Tate, I was noticing more and more each day.

  I sighed and walked over to my dresser, pulling out the same grey sweatpants from the night before and walking into the bathroom, not wanting to change in the bedroom out of respect for Tate.

    I looked at my bloodshot eyes in the mirror, and could hardly recognize the reflection staring back at me. I looked more like the scared little boy who had to flee his home six years ago, than the cold-blooded killer I had grown used to seeing in the mirror.

I groaned and turned on the sink, splashing some cold water on my face. I reached for a washcloth and pressed it against my face gently, sighing into it.

   I pulled it away from my skin and looked back up, giving my reflection one last look before pulling off my shirt and my jeans, slipping into my sweatpants. I opened the bathroom door and turned off the light, pulling the door closed behind me gently, as I was sure Tate would be passed out by now.

   I tiptoed towards the bed, and slowly grabbed the corner of the duvet, pulling it back. I was about to get into bed when I spotted the cushion on the floor, seeming to be taunting me that there would always have to be a wall between Tate and me.

   I bent down and picked up the cushion, the zipper on the end of it clattering loudly against the floor and I winced at the sound, peeking my eyes over to Tate, who was still in the same position facing the window.

  I let out a sigh of relief, turning back towards the bed and going to put the cushion in between Tate and I, but before I had a chance to, I heard Tate's small voice speak.

"It's not morning yet, we still have time left to pretend."

My heart leapt at her words, and I could hear it pounding relentlessly in my ears.

I closed my eyes and took in a deep breath, before opening them again and responding.

"Are you sure you want to keep pretending?"

I heard her sigh as she nestled further into the pillow.

"No, but I haven't been sure about anything all night. Why start now?"

I felt my grip on the cushion loosen, until it eventually released entirely, sending it tumbling back down to the floor, along with any ounce of common sense I had left.

I slipped down under the sheets, reaching towards the end of the bed to pull the large blanket over us.

   I didn't understand how out of all the things I had done in my life, murdering people and going on life threatening missions, the most daunting thing in the world to me was sharing a bed with the girl wrapped up in between my sheets, the smell of the jasmine perfume I saw in the bathroom still floating off of her skin.

    I didn't know what to do, and so Tate did it for me. She scooted back closer to me, until she was in the middle of the bed, leaving the rest up to me.

Keeping with tonight's theme of doing things that I know I shouldn't, I edged closer to her until her back was against my chest. I slipped one of my arms over her waist, pulling her further into me. She was so warm, the touch of her skin against mine igniting my whole body, and I was beginning to worry if I stayed here any longer, I would burn.

  But I didn't care. I would gladly commit arson against myself if it meant having Tate this close to me. I knew it was likely to never happen again, and so I wanted to savor the fire between us until it was nothing but softly glowing embers, a faint memory torched into my mind.

  I felt one of her arms fiddling around, and I sucked in a breath as her fingers laced into mine. She gave my hand a comforting squeeze, and I closed my eyes and pressed my forehead against her neck, placing a soft kiss there.

She hummed at my touch, and I tightened my grip around her waist. It was as if I were trying to hold on not only to her but this night. This moment.

"Tomorrow seems too close," She murmered, and I chuckled softly against her skin, breathing in her heavenly scent.

"Way too fucking close," I agreed, and she sighed at my words.

"We have to let go of this in the morning," she continued, and my heart ached at her words, because I knew she was right.

"I know we do," I replied.

"But for the time being, just hold me. We can go back to ignoring each other in the morning. We can pretend that this never happened. We can get back to work and go get the key. Tomorrow, we can go back to reality." She spoke softly.

I nodded my head against her. "Tomorrow we can go back to reality. But at least for tonight, we can live in this fantasy for a little while longer."

"Yes," she began, snuggling further into me. "For a little while longer."

After a few minutes, her breathing became more rythmic and I knew she had fallen asleep. I placed another kiss on the back of her neck, and another one on her shoulder, before placing my head back down on the pillow.

   There were a lot of things that I was dreading about tomorrow. The inevitable hangover I was bound to have, all of the texts and calls from the other guys to get updates on our progress, and searching through an entire park for a single key. But none of those things even began to compare to the thing I dreaded the most about tomorrow.

   Letting go of the girl in my arms.

AN: AW THIS WAS SO CUTE AND SAD AND TENDER UGH! I HOPE YOU GUYS LIKED IT! I CANNOT WAIT TO KEEP WRITING THIS STORY! ILY ALL SO MUCH AND I AM SO THANKFUL FOR ALL OF YOUR SUPPORT! DON'T FORGET TO VOTE AND COMMENT AND LET ME KNOW WHAT YOU THINK! YOU ALL ARE THE BEST! xx