Then: "I don't cuddle."
I don't cuddle. Said with such finality. Such conviction. Like it's a law of the universe that Theodore Wright does not engage in cuddling under any circumstances.
I smirk despite the headache. Can't help it. The stubbornness is kind of adorable.
"It's a holiday tradition," I inform him seriously. "Cuddling during winter season. Very important. Can't skip it or the Christmas spirits get mad."
"That's a bluff." His voice is flat but I can hear the hint of amusement underneath.
"I'd argue with you about the validity of winter cuddling traditions," I say, letting my eyes drift closed because keeping them open is getting harder. "But my head hurts too much for proper debate. So you'll just have to trust me on this one."
I pout. I know I'm pouting. Can feel my bottom lip sticking out in what's probably the most pathetic expression ever.
Then I blink my eyes open—just barely, just enough to look at him through my lashes. The puppy dog eyes. The ultimate Omega weapon that I absolutely hate using but desperate times call for desperate measures.
I hear him sigh. A long, defeated sound.
"Omegas are dangerous," he mutters, but he's moving toward the bed. Actually moving.
I feel the mattress dip as he sits on the edge. Hear the rustle of fabric as he takes off his boots—being careful and quiet about it. Then he's lifting the sheets, slipping underneath, scooting across the bed to settle next to me.
Victory! I won! The stubborn Alpha who doesn't cuddle is currently in my bed preparing to cuddle. This is the best thing that's happened all day aside from the head trauma. Actually, maybe better than the head trauma. Definitely better than the head trauma.
I smirk in triumph even though my head is killing me and exhaustion is pulling me back under.
I turn toward him, snuggling into his side without asking permission. Just burrow right into his space like I belong there. Like I have every right to be pressed against him in my tiny bed in my Christmas pajamas with my head still pounding.
He's rigid at first. Tense. Every muscle locked up like he doesn't know what to do with an Omega voluntarily pressing against him. Like physical affection without strings attached is a foreign concept he's never encountered before.
His scent wraps around me completely now—cedar smoke and dark chocolate and gunpowder and safety. So much safety it makes my chest ache. Like nothing bad can happen as long as I'm in his arms. Like all the terrible things in my life can't touch me here. Like I'm finally, finally protected.
I've never felt this before. This bone-deep sense of security. With Kael's pack I was always on edge, always waiting for the other shoe to drop, always wondering when they'd decide I wasn't worth the hassle anymore. But this? This feels different. Real. Like maybe I could trust it.
But slowly, gradually, he relaxes. His arm comes around me, tucking me closer against his chest like I'm something precious that needs protecting. His other hand moves to my hair, running through the strands with gentle, soothing motions that make me want to purr. Like he's trying to calm me down even though I'm already half-asleep. Like taking care of me is important to him.
It feels good. Better than good. It feels right in a way I can't explain and shouldn't try to because my brain is too fuzzy frompain medication and exhaustion. Like puzzle pieces clicking together. Like coming home after being lost for a really long time. Like finding something I didn't even know I was missing.
His heartbeat is steady under my ear. Thump-thump. Thump-thump. Regular and reassuring and alive. His body heat seeps into me, chasing away the cold that's been living in my bones for months. Years, maybe.
I'm dozing off. In and out. Consciousness slipping away in gentle waves.
When I surface again—could be minutes or hours later, time is meaningless—I'm comforted by the deep snores coming from the culprit who claimed he couldn't sleep.
Theo is snoring. Actually snoring. Deep, rhythmic breaths that rumble through his chest and vibrate against my cheek. The man who's 'not good at sleeping' is currently dead to the world and making sounds that suggest he's having the best sleep of his life.
The irony is not lost on me. Makes me want to laugh but I'm too tired and my head still hurts and honestly I'm just grateful he's resting.
It gives me some odd sense of peace. Some strange comfort knowing that I helped him sleep even if it was just by being stubborn about cuddling traditions.
I let myself drift off again, held safe in his arms, surrounded by his scent and the steady sound of his breathing.
But in that liminal space between sleep and waking, reality starts creeping back in. The questions I've been avoiding. The situation I don't understand.
Why are three Alphas in my apartment? Why did Charlotte say I have a pack now? What happened while I was unconscious? How am I going to afford the repairs? What does any of this mean?
Tomorrow. I'll deal with it tomorrow. In the morning when my head doesn't feel like it's splitting open and I can think clearly. When I can have actual conversations instead of just accepting everything at face value because I'm too out of it to question anything.
Tomorrow I'm going to have to confront all of this. Figure out what's happening. Understand why these Alphas care. Deal with the flooding and the damage and the money I don't have. Face whatever complicated situation I've stumbled into.
