Asleep.
Trusting me.
And I’d ratherdiethan fuck that up.
A slow, sleepy sound buzzed low in her throat. A hum, maybe. Or a growl? She shifted again — closer, if that was possible — and let her nose press against the line of my jaw.
Then she froze. I felt her wake up by inches.
“You’re fine,” I said quickly. Too quickly. “You’re more than fine.” My arms tightened around her, keeping her from moving too far from me.
She opened one eye and squinted up at me. “How long have you been awake?”
“Not long.”
She narrowed her eye, clearly not buying it. “You’re lying.”
“I didn’t want to wake you.”
“You didn’t want tomove.”
I grinned. “Also that.”
She stretched a little, groaned, and buried her face in my chest again. “God. Do you think your mom heard me snore?”
“Impossible,” I murmured. “You don’t snore.”
“Ido. Like a lumberjack.”
“Sexy.”
She pinched my side. I yelped, louder than I needed to, but enough to drag a quiet giggle from her. She settled again. Still and quiet and content. “You’re good at this,” she said, almost too low for me to hear.
“Good at what?”
A pause. A breath.
“Letting me feel safe.”
I didn’t say anything. The words locked up in my throat like they didn’t want to ruin this moment. So I just kissed the top of her head. Let my fingers slide into her hair, down her spine, slow and careful and reverent. “Stay as long as you want,” I whispered. “You never have to go.”
She didn’t answer. Not with her words. But she didn’t pull away.
Juniper’s breath was warm and slow against my skin, her fingers tracing lazy patterns over my ribs. I caught a glimpse of her half-lidded eyes and the slight curve of a smile playing at the edges of her mouth.
“You ever think about how weird mornings are?” she murmured, voice thick with sleep. “Like… we spend all day running around pretending we have it together, then we get here and just… don’t.”
I smiled, shifting slightly so her arm rested more comfortably across my chest. “Yeah. Mornings are honest. No masks.”
She snorted softly, snuggling closer. “So this is the real us? Half-asleep, tangled like a mess of yarn?”
“Exactly.” I brushed a stray strand of hair from her forehead. My pulse pounded heavy in my chest. “No pretending. Just us.”
Her eyes fluttered closed again, but she whispered, “Don’t ever stop doing this. The safe, quiet stuff. The part where I don’t have to fight for air.”
I kissed her temple, careful not to wake her fully. “I won’t. I promise.”
She hummed, the softest sound of approval, and I realized maybe this was the kind of forever I was willing to fight for.
