"My full name is Hero Beauregard Faulkner Fiennes Tiffin." I feel his low voice against my cheek as it rumbles in his chest. "My parents love to show their creativity, and they took the opportunity to show just how creative they were when they named me and my siblings." He chuckles softly as he rubs his hand over my back in a soothing way, forcing my sobs to the background. The way he does it makes it clear that he's strong; with every move up, he pushes me against him a little more.

"I grew up in London in the house where my mum lives still. I've told you that, right?" He combines his question with a small squeeze in my neck, leaving goosebumps in its wake. In answer, I nod against his chest.

I feel his nose against my hair and I hear him inhale. "My parents both work in the film industry," he continues, his voice still low, but it sounds as if he's a little more guarded. "My dad is a cinematographer and writer, my mum is a director and writer." After a short silence in which he fiddles with the fabric of my shirt, he adds, "they are kinda famous actually."

I lift my head so I can look at him, his green eyes casting down so he can meet my gaze. He doesn't only sound guarded, he looks guarded too. I don't understand why. "Why do you say it like that? Is it a bad thing? What exactly do you mean by famous?"

A small smile ghosts over his lips and his hand lifts so he can trail his finger over my cheek. "Never change that," he mumbles. "It's not a bad thing. They make films, and I have other relatives that are actors. The Fiennes family is quite well known in the film industry. People know who they are." He pauses for just a second while he stares at my face. He then leans his head to the right slightly as if he is doubting his next words. "I was in a film too, when I was younger."

He what? "You were?" I sound just as surprised and confused as I am.

"I was." He nods. I don't miss how he still carefully scans my reaction, and it makes me wonder how I should feel about this information. I don't find anything special about it, to be honest, he is just telling me who he is, but the way he looks at me makes me question if it's a bad thing that he was in a film.

"Are you not happy about it?" I carefully ask, trying to get a little more out of him that might explain his sudden caution.

He chuckles softly and shakes his head, his hand brushing some nonexistent hair behind my ear. His touch makes me feel at ease, and the sobs that rushed through my body previously are gone. "I liked it. I thought I wanted to be an actor when I was younger. I saw it from up close and I thought it was what I wanted to do too. I had a small role in one of the Harry Potter films when I was ten years old."

Before I watched Harry Potter with Mercy and Martha yesterday, I didn't know what Harry Potter was about. I remember reading about the films in one of the newspapers he always bought for me to read. He'd made me read articles over and over again, out loud, while he clocked the time to see if I was faster than the time before. I figured Harry Potter was a big thing back then, but it didn't hold my interest. How funny is it that Hero was in that though?

"Why aren't you an actor now then?" I ask, and in reaction, his expression softens as one side of his mouth pulls into a smile that I haven't seen before. "What?" The way he is looking at me makes me feel shy.

"Nothing." He shakes his head. "I just... I like how you asked me this. Normally, girls wouldn't... I mean, they would want to know more about me being a child actor, you know?" He seems to struggle with his explanation, and I have to admit that I'm still not sure why he looks at me like that. "Anyway," he trails when he sees my confusion. "When I was thirteen I saw this show on tv. It was a documentary about the work of police officers. And after I'd watched that, I knew I wanted to do exactly that."

I smile because his whole face lights up as he talks about this memory. "Why?"

He shifts on the couch a little so he is more comfortable, his arm casually dropping over my legs that are still thrown over his lap. His other arm is still wrapped around me, his thumb moving in circles on my back. "In that documentary, the police officer was chasing someone. And eventually, after a long hunt, he got him. The suspect was taller and looked stronger, but the police officer had no problem in taking him down. It was so impressive and intimidating, and my respect for them just grew. Those men were on the streets to make sure the people were safe. I wanted to be just as impressive, and I wanted to make sure everyone was safe too."

"And is it what you'd hoped it would be?" I keep asking questions because I don't want him to stop talking. With every little thing he tells me, he makes my world bigger. Everything he tells me is a piece that fits the puzzle that he is. I can't have enough pieces of him.

"It is. I love my job. In the end, I know that I'm helping people, and the idea that what I'm doing is only a small fraction of why people can walk the street safely, is worth more than anything else. I've learned a lot about myself as well; I know who I am and what I want in my life. I've seen a lot of what not to do." He pulls me a little more against him, his hands on both my back and my legs tightening.

"You're a real-life hero," I say without thinking, and in response, he chuckles. "You don't wanna know how many times I've heard that. Especially from elder ladies that I'd helped."

I smile, swallowing the need to tell him he is a hero for me too. We're talking about him now, the last thing I want is to turn back the attention on me. "Do you work a lot?"

He nods, his legs stretching so he can rest his feet on the coffee table. He looks completely comfortable now; the tension has thankfully left both of us. "Yeah, about forty-five hours a week. I had a lot of night shifts. This is actually the first time I'm having days off since I bought this house eleven months ago."

He is giving me so much information, I don't know what to ask next because I want to know everything. I can focus on the fact that he doesn't live here for that long, or I can ask him about what he does when he doesn't work. Since the last option probably tells me more about him, I settle for that. "What are you doing outside of those forty-five hours a week?"

He chuckles again. I love that sound. "I run, just like I did now. I've always loved nature and being outside. I'm a massive football fan ever since I was little, and I love playing as well. We have this amateur team with a group of friends called the M-Boys. They have a game every Saturday, and whenever I can with work, I play too."

"Is that with the group of friends you've known your whole life?"

"Yeah." He smiles, and it's obvious that he's fond of them. "Part of them I've known my whole life, others a little shorter, but they a good friends. We have a solid group of friends that is just always there, you know? We've all grown up and we all live on our own now, but we still make sure we see each other regularly. We are there for each other, you know?"

I don't know. It's probably the one thing that I find difficult about everything he is telling me. He has such a normal, fun life full of people he loves and loves him in return, and it makes it so very clear that I have nothing. It makes me wonder what it would've been like if he hadn't taken me to London. What if I had stayed back in Australia? Would I have had a life similar to Hero's too? With friends and hobbies and maybe even a house?

"Are your friends just guys?" I ask, desperately trying to focus on him and not on what I don't have because of what happened. If I think about that too much, all the anger and pain will take the upper hand again, and I've just calmed down.

He doesn't answer immediately, and when I look up at him again, I see that a small smile is forming his lips again. He's not looking at me; his gaze is steady on the Christmas tree. "No," he answers. There are girls too."

"Okay," I say, and right after he laughs. "What?" I ask, slightly confused.

"Nothing." He looks down, his green eyes happy. "Are you okay?"

"Yeah," I tell him honestly. "I like hearing you talk about yourself. I want to know who you are." I feel my cheeks heat up, but I try to ignore it. Hero sees it too; his eyes flicker to my blush before he looks at the Christmas tree again, almost as if he pretends he didn't see it.

"I want you to know me," he mumbles after a short, comfortable silence. "And you can always ask me if you want to know things. I promise I'll always be honest, even if you might not like the answer."

I nod, pushing away the thoughts of what he might mean by that I might not like the answer. "Do you have other hobbies besides football?"

"As I said, I like to be outside. When I lived with mum, we had a dog named Diesel. I used to take him on walks every day. We've had him since he was a pup. I paid for him with the money I got from acting in Harry Potter, and I didn't tell my mum that I was going to buy him. She was mad at first and told us to bring him back, but when she saw that Titan and I refused to go in without him, she gave in. In the end, she loved him just as much as we did."

"He was my best friend," he continues, his face an endeared smile with a hint of sadness too. "He was there in difficult times. When my parents divorced, I was having a really hard time understanding the world. Mercy was too young to figure everything out, and Titan was old enough to elevate the situation, but I wasn't. I was twelve, and it just didn't make sense. They told us they still love each other but that they weren't in love anymore, and I just didn't understand the difference. Diesel helped me through that period though. He was always there, even slept in bed with me when it wasn't Mercy's night to have him." He chuckles at the memory, and I smile as well.

"He died the night before my birthday, a little over a year ago. We saw it coming; he was old and in the end, he just couldn't anymore, but it was still a shock. I felt miserable." He takes a deep breath and moves the hand that was on my legs to his face as if he wants to rub away the emotion.

"I'm sorry," I whisper. "I'm sure he had a great life."

"He had," Hero agrees immediately. "Everybody that knew him, loved him."

I nestle myself against him a little more, my head resting on his chest again. I feel his nose nuzzle in my hair. "You never thought about having another dog? I ask him, and right after I feel him shake his head. "I don't have time," he explains. "Back at mum's, there was always someone home for him so he wasn't lonely. I'm hardly ever home, so it's not a good idea. Having a dog is a big responsibility, and I like that I don't have that right now. I can do what I want without feeling guilty."

I hold my breath as I repeat his last sentence in my head. I can do what I want without feeling guilty. He doesn't want a dog because he likes to do what he wants and go out whenever he feels like it.

And although he is just honest and I can't blame him for wanting this at all, I do feel disappointed. Because what I'm doing right now -the effect that Daisy and I are having on him- is exactly the kind which a dog would have too. A baby is a responsibility much bigger than a dog, and he practically tells me that he is doesn't need that in his life right now.

I untangle myself from his arms and sit up so we are not touching anymore. "Okay," I whisper while looking at my hands. They are fidgeting with the hem of my sweater, and my eyes follow every movement just so I don't have to make eye contact once again.

Without missing a beat, Hero senses the obvious shift. "What's wrong?" He asks alarmed. When I don't respond as fast as he likes, he adds, "Jo, what's wrong? Tell me." He sounds slightly panicked and his hand has grabbed my arm. I think he is afraid that I'll leave the room again.

"It's just what you said," I tell him. I need to be honest with him because the last thing I want is to hold him back in living his life. He can't keep putting his life on hold for me and Daisy.

"What? What did I say?" He looks confused, the frown in between his brows telling me he is overthinking everything he's just said to understand what I mean.

"You like not having the responsibility that a dog brings along." I look at him knowingly, and on cue, his eyes widen while he furiously begins to shake his head.

"Fuck, Jo, I didn't mean..," he starts, his hand squeezing my arm a little tighter. "I didn't mean it like that. For you and Dais I'd... It's... It's different with you two. Fuck, it's so different. You know that right?"

"Is it, though?" I question. "You are putting your whole life on hold because of us. You don't go to work anymore, you've canceled the tradition with your friends on Christmas Eve because of us, and you're always here with us while you've just told me how much you love to be outside."

"But I don't mind that," he counters immediately, the desperation audible in his voice although his tone stays soft. "I want to help you, Jo. I don't mind that-"

"I know you don't mind, Hero, but I do. I mind," I interrupt him, tears stinging in my eyes once more. I blink rapidly to fight them away. I wish I could stop them but I can't. "Your life is so nice. You have such good friends and you have hobbies and family. You have everything. I don't want you to give that up because of us. I don't want you to give it up for some broken, sick girl that has a newborn daughter without a dad. I-"

"Jo, I don't want you to ever talk about yourself like that again," he states, his hands on my cheeks to prevent me from looking away. "You are not just some girl, and I'm not giving up anything because of you and Dais." His words are sweet and spoken with force and passion. He means this, or at least he thinks he does.

"But I am sick, Hero," I whisper, losing the fight against my tears. "Today's therapy session made that very clear. I'm broken, and I don't see how I will ever be whole again. I don't think I can be fixed. I've lived in a dark place for nearly my whole life, and even though I'm not there anymore, in my head it's still as dark as before."

The last few words come out in between sobs, and at the end of the sentence, I break once again. My ribs and throat hurt from earlier, but it doesn't stop my body from crying once more.

Without warning, Hero's hands slide from my cheeks to my waist, and a moment later he's pulled me into his lap. My legs are on each side of his, and his arms are tightly wrapped around my lower back, pulling me flush against him. My arms move around his neck on their own accord, and my face hides in his neck right after. I love how he smells; it reminds me of the night he kicked open that door and took me out of that hell. It's remarkable how his scent has become connected to safety and feeling loved in such a short time.

His upper body slowly sways from left to right, creating a little bubble in which we both hide. His lips are pressed against my hair but he doesn't try to soothe me with words. We don't speak. He lets me cry, and for the first time today I give up fighting and just let the tears flow. And all the while, the pressure of his arms around me and the way he sways us doesn't stop.

I don't know how long I cry; eventually, my tear ducts are not able to produce proper tears anymore. My head hurts, and overall I feel as if a train ran over me. I'm tired. I'm so tired.

"What do you want, Jo?" Hero's voice is soft and always seems to be able to make me calm. "Tell me what you want. Tell me how I can help you. What do you need?"

I pull my face from his neck so I can look at him. His eyes scan my face, his thumbs wiping the tears from my cheeks in the meantime. "Tell me, love," he whispers, his voice thick with emotion. And while my body is in emotion-overload, I don't miss how he just called me. Love.

"I don't know," I tell him honestly. "All I know is that I'm in a very dark place. A place where they dominate everything I do. A place where he still controls me. I feel scared and pained all the time."

I can tell my words affect him in the worst way possible; I see the anger wash over his face. Anger that's aimed at the men that did this to me. I see that he's sorry. But I also see the desperate need to help me. I feel his desperate need to help me. "But when you touch me, it disappears," I add, my voice trembling as I tell him the one thing that confuses me just as much as I welcome it. "When you touch me, when you kiss me, I don't see or feel them. It's like you're fighting them away. And I don't understand how it's possible because I can't even fight them away myself."

Relief washes over his features, his eyes bright green and a little wet as well. "Maybe you don't have to understand it for now. Maybe you just need to give in and let me fight them for you." He scans me again, his hands still on the sides of my face. "I promise to take them out of your head whenever you need me to. If you need me to hold you, I'll hold you. If you want me to kiss you so you don't think about them, then that's what I'll do. I'll hold and kiss you for as long as you need me to, Jo. I want to help you, and if you're comfortable with it, then it's what I'll do until you tell me to stop."

He is so sweet. How can he be this sweet? I wipe my nose with my sleeve and let out a humorless chuckle. I'm such a mess, yet here he is, telling me every little thing I need to hear at this moment. "What if I never want you to stop?"

He leans forward and rubs his nose against mine. "Then I won't stop. I meant it when I told you I love you, Josephine."

"But your life is so different and great and full of life and I'm just-"

He interrupts me again, his thumb moving to my lips to silence me. "You are a part of my life too now. Dais is a part of my life. From the moment I met you, you've been a part of my life. From the moment Dais was born, she's marked me. I've been thinking about the two of you non-stop when you were in the hospital, Jo. My life won't change, it will be even greater and even more full of life with you two in it." He nudges my nose with his before kissing the tip with his lips. "We just need balance. We need to find a way to navigate our days. With Dais, and me with my friends and hobbies and work. And you with therapy. We'll figure it out. I reckon all young parents have trouble figuring shit out in the beginning. We can do that too. We just have a little more shit to figure out."

He is overwhelming. What he says is overwhelming. I want to thank him. I want to tell him I love him. I want to tell him how Daisy is so lucky to have someone like him. How I am so lucky to have him, but I don't find the words. He has left me speechless, and just like last time I didn't know what to say, all I can think about is letting actions speak for me.

So, with still wet cheeks, a runny nose, and while sobs uncoordinatedly leave my body, I press my lips against his. And this time, he isn't surprised. This time, he reacts as if he initiated the kiss himself.

This time, his hands move to the back of my neck and into my hair. This time he is the one that carefully moves his lips against mine so his tongue can enter. And this time, I feel comfortable enough to do exactly what he's told me to do.