When I wake up the next day the first thing I notice is warmth. Not the heavy, suffocating kind that makes want to kick the blankets off, but steady heat at my back. There’s an arm around my waist, loose, not trapping , just there.
My eyes open fully and I stare at the wall in front of , my mind scrambling to catch up. For a second I think maybe I wandered into the wrong room again. Maybe this is still so half-dream my brain hasn’t let go of yet
Then I shift slightly and the arm tightens, just a fraction.
Zane.
My stomach twists.
He’s still here.
He leaves the bed before I wake always. Half the ti he’s already gone when I open my eyes, like he doesn’t want to deal with whatever version of the morning brings. So this.....him still here, this close...feels wrong in a way I can’t na.
I don’t move again.
His breathing changes his not asleep anymore.
Then his arm loosens and I roll just enough to look up.
He’s already watching .
Flat on his back, head turned toward , eyes open.
"Morning," he says.
His voice is low and rough from sleep.
I swallow my throat feeling dry. "Morning."
He studies my face like he’s checking for sothing. His hand is still at my waist, warm through the thin fabric of my shirt. I don’t push it away. I don’t lean into it either.
He smiles.
It’s small. Barely there but it’s real
"How’d you sleep?"
I blink, surprised by how easily the answer cos.
"Better than I have in years."
The words hang between us.
For a second, he looks like he doesn’t know what to do with that. His jaw tightens, then relaxes. His thumb moves once, slow, against my side.
"I’m glad," he says.
Simple.
The room is quiet. Late-morning quiet. Light spills in through the curtains, warm and pale, catching dust in the air. I can sll soap on him. Clean and Familiar now in a way that makes my chest feel tight.
I notice little things. The crease between his brows that never fully smooths out. The faint shadow of stubble along his jaw. The way his eyes soften when he realizes I’m really awake, really here.
I should feel awkward. I should feel trapped.
I don’t.
What I feel is strange and uncomfortable and oddly safe.
I shift, pushing myself up on one elbow. The movent breaks whatever spell is hanging in the air. His hand falls away and he sits up too, the sheet slipping down his chest. I look away, not because I’m shy, but because this mont feels fragile and I don’t want to snap it.
He watches anyway.
"You hungry?" he asks.
"Yeah," I say, then pause. "A little."
"We’ll get you sothing."
I glance at him again. He’s already swinging his legs out of bed, moving like he’s decided sothing.
I sit there for a mont longer, sheets pooled around my waist, trying to understand why this morning feels different.
Why my chest doesn’t ache.
Why my head feels clear.
Why, for the first ti in a long ti, waking up doesn’t feel like sothing I have to survive.
I’m still half tucked into the pillows when he says it.
"I ca in you yesterday."
I blink at him.
Once... then again.
Then I laugh.
Just a short, breathy sound that slips out before I can stop it.
"I know," I say, rubbing at my eyes. "Relax. I’m on birth control nothing is going to happen."
He doesn’t laugh with .
That should’ve been my first clue.
I lower my hand and look at him properly. He’s standing near the bed now, already half dressed, shirt in his hands, his expression unreadable and Focused, like he’s working through sothing.
"Where do you keep them," he asks.
I frown. "What?"
"The birth control," he says. "Where do you keep it."
I stare at him, trying to decide if he’s serious.
"You’re being weird."
"I’m being careful."
That makes my frown deepen. I push myself upright, pulling the sheet higher around my waist. "You don’t trust ?"
His jaw tightens. "I trust facts."
"Wow," I mutter. "Romantic."
He ignores that like of course he does.
"Elaine."
I sigh, long and exaggerated, mostly to keep from snapping. "Bathroom cabinet, the one with my skincare. Second shelf, blue packet."
He watches my face like he’s filing the information away like he actually plans to check it. The fucker
"You’re really going to go look," I say.
He doesn’t deny it. Just nods once.
"I take it every day," I add, sharper now. "Sa ti. I’m not stupid."
"I didn’t say you were."
"Then why..."
"Because accidents happen," he cuts in, not raising his voice, but not softening it either. "And I don’t leave things like that to chance."
I don’t know why that makes sothing twist in my chest.
I look away, picking at the edge of the sheet. "You don’t have to worry. I’ve been on it for years and it’s not like I want to have any of your children not now not ever."
That’s enough, apparently.
He exhales, the tension easing just a fraction. "Okay."
He pulls his shirt on, buttons it slowly. Watching him feels intimate in a quiet way that makes my skin warm again. Not in a sexual way . Just... close.
"I have to go," he says, reaching for his watch. "It’s going to be a long day."
I nod. "Alright."
"I’ll have food brought up later."
"You don’t have to...."
"I want to," he says, already slipping the watch on. "Eat wife don’t skip als."
There’s sothing about the way he says it that makes pause. It feels almost like concern
"Okay," I say again.
He hesitates by the door. Just for a second. Like he’s debating sothing. Then he turns back, leans down, and presses a brief kiss to my forehead.
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