Ozzy goes still. For a second, I worry I pushed too far. Then he exhales slowly, like no one’s asked him that in a long time. “My favorite thing?” he repeats, voice quiet.
“Yeah,” I say. “What do you like? When you’re not… saving people. When you’re not doing missions. When you’re just… Ozzy.”
His fingers flex against my back. He looks toward the ceiling, thinking. Then, almost reluctantly, he says, “Throwing knives.”
I blink. “What?”
Ozzy’s mouth twitches. “I bet you didn’t expect that answer.”
I lift my head, eyes wide. “You throw knives?”
He nods once. “Yeah.”
“Like—like in the movies?” I whisper, half excited, half horrified.
Ozzy’s eyes glint in the dim. “Like in real life.”
I stare at him, then grin despite myself. “That’s… actually kind of hot.”
Ozzy’s gaze snaps to mine. Heat flashes. His voice drops. “Careful.”
My breath catches. “Why?”
“Because if you keep saying things like that,” he murmurs, “I’m going to start forgetting why I’m supposed to be good.”
My stomach flips hard. I swallow, pulse racing. “Are you… supposed to be good?”
Ozzy’s jaw tightens, but his arm around me stays firm. “With you? Yeah.”
My voice comes out smaller than I mean. “Why?”
His eyes hold mine. Then he says, so quietly it’s almost a confession, “Because you deserve gentle.”
My chest tightens painfully. I look away fast, blinking hard. Then I force myself back to the knives because if I sit in that sentence too long, I might actually cry.
“You have knives here?” I ask.
Ozzy nods. “Always.”
“Always?” I repeat, fascinated.
He shifts slightly, careful not to break our hold, and reaches to the nightstand drawer. He opens it and pulls out a small roll of leather.
My eyes widen.
He unrolls it just enough to show me three sleek throwing knives, dark metal catching the lamplight.
“They’re… beautiful,” I whisper.
Ozzy’s mouth curves. “They’re tools.”
“Still beautiful,” I argue.
He looks at me like he’s amused and pleased and trying not to show either. “They balance a certain way,” he says. “Feels… right.”
I touch the leather carefully, not the blades. “How did you learn?”
Ozzy shrugs. “Picked it up. Practiced. Got good.”