His warm hands held her trembling ones, and she looked around frantically, teetering on the edge of full-blown panic.
"Frida?" Laz's voice broke through, but everything felt distant, blurry. Her chest tightened as her free hand clutched at it, gasping for air.
The sight of blood twisted her gut, sending her spiraling further into lightheadedness.
"Frida?" His voice sounded closer now, laced with urgency. "Goddammit, what's wrong?"
She barely registered him cupping her face, his hands warm and grounding.
Did she mention his touch felt like heaven?
Even now, it was the most comforting thing in the world. His concerned eyes, warm and steady, melted her insides to mush.
"You make it so hard, Laz," she thought as he whispered, "Breathe in." His voice was a soothing rasp, his breath warm against her face.
She inhaled.
"Breathe out," he continued, his eyelashes brushing her forehead.
