And as I drift off in his arms, I think—that this is what falling feels like. Not chaos or panic. But safety. Peace. The quiet knowing that even broken things can be loved back to life.
We lay on the bed, still wrapped in that blanket, my head on his chest. He stays fully dressed, doesn’t try anything, just holds me like that’s all he ever wanted.
And for the first time in a long time, I feel safe. Not just in my house. Not just in his arms. But in us.
***
The first thing I register is warmth. The steady rise and fall of Elijah’s chest beneath my cheek. The scent of cedar wood and ink that clings to his clothes. His arm is wrapped securely around me, hand resting against my back like he never stopped holding me, not even in his sleep.
I blink a few times, trying to get my bearings. Morning light is just beginning to filter through the blinds, casting soft golden stripes across the living room floor. We’re still on the bed, tangled beneath the throw blanket, exactly where we fell asleep.
I don’t remember drifting off. Just the feel of his heartbeat and the way his voice anchored me through the storm inside my chest. And now, here we are. Still here.
I shift a little, just enough to look up at him. His eyes are closed, lashes resting on his cheeks, but his breathing changes. Slows, deepens. He’s awake.
“Morning,” I whisper, not wanting to disturb the quiet too much.
His lips twitch into a half-smile before his eyes even open. “Hey, baby girl.”
My heart gives a little stutter. He says it so naturally, like it belongs to me. Like I belong to him, and I want to.
“How’d you sleep?” he asks, voice rough with sleep, low and comforting.
I shrug, resting my chin on his chest. “Better than I have in days.”
“Good,” he murmurs, hand sliding gently up and down my back. “You were safe. I wasn’t gonna let anything touch you.”
“I know,” I say, the words catching a little in my throat. “Thank you, Elijah. For last night. For coming. For staying.”
His brow furrows slightly, like it hurts him that I even feel the need to thank him. “You don’t have to thank me, Ava. I’d show up every time. No matter what.”
My eyes sting again, but it’s a different kind of ache now. Less fear. More realization.
“What happens now?” I ask, barely above a whisper.
He looks at me for a long moment, like he’s making sure I really want the answer. Then he brushes a strand of hair from my face and says softly, “Whatever you want. Like I said last night. We take it slow. Or we don’t take it at all. But I’m not walking away, Ava. I'm not going anywhere. You’re not alone. I'll be by your side as a friend or anything you want”
A tiny, trembling breath escapes my lips.
“I don’t want to slow down because I’m unsure,” he says, voice steady now. “I want slow because I want to savor every second with you, baby girl.”
His eyes darken with something deep and warm and sure. He leans down, not quite kissing me—just resting his forehead to mine again like he did the night before.
We lay there a little longer, wrapped in silence, in each other. The world is still waiting outside, but for now, there’s no rush.
Not when I’m exactly where I want to be.
***
The peace of earlier slips into something softer—lighter—by the time we move to the kitchen. I’m in Elijah’s hoodie, swimming in it really, and he keeps pretending not to stare every time the hem creeps up my thigh when I reach for something.
“Stop looking at me like that,” I tease, opening a cabinet a little too forcefully.
“Like what?” he asks innocently, leaning against the counter, arms crossed, a smirk tugging at his lips. “Like you’re currently stealing my favorite hoodie and looking better in it than I ever did?”
I roll my eyes, grinning as I pull down a box of pancake mix. “I’m not stealing it.”
“You’re literally wearing it while denying it.” He pushes off the counter and steps behind me, reaching for a mug from the shelf above my head. His chest brushes my back. “Don’t worry. You can keep it. But it’s a rental—you’ll have to pay in pancakes.”
