I shifted forward and stood, crossing the room in slow, quiet steps.
When I reached her, I paused. Just looking.
I bent down, slid one arm beneath her knees, the other beneath her back. She was warm—so much warmer than I expected—and soft in a way that didn’t fit the sharpness of her usual demeanor. She stirred, barely, her head brushing my chest as she mumbled something incoherent. I felt the sound more than I heard it, a quiet vibration against my ribs.
Then she sighed. A soft, unconscious sound. And curled closer.
My grip tightened.
I carried her down the hall, the only sound the soft scuff of my footsteps against the hardwood. Each breath felt louder than it should have, like my body didn’t know what to do with the weight of her so close, so trusting.
In my room, I laid her down with more care than I’d shown anything in years. She didn’t wake. Just sighed again and settled deeper into the blankets. One hand reached out absently, curling into the sheets like she belonged there.
I stood over her for a moment. Just watching.
There was no armor left in her. No fire. No bite. Just Mina—unarmed and at peace.
I turned away before I let that feeling unravel me.
Stripped off my shirt and joggers, pulled on clean clothes—dark joggers, a soft long-sleeve shirt. Neutral. Controlled. Presentable. Not vulnerable.
When I slid under the covers beside her, I left space between us. Out of respect. Out of discipline.
The mattress shifted under my weight, and for a second, I thought she might wake.
Instead, she moved.
Rolled—slow and easy—toward me until her shoulder barely brushed mine.
I went still.
I could’ve pulled away. I didn’t.
Her breath was steady now, brushing faintly against my arm, rhythmic and real. I matched it without meaning to. Like my body wanted to sync with hers.
I stared at the ceiling.
Tried not to think about how natural this felt. Tried not to let my mind wander to dangerous places—like what it might be like to have her wake up here every morning, not just this one. What it might feel like to keep her close, not because of a bet, but because she chose to stay.
But that wasn’t this.
This was just a moment.
And I let it be enough.
For now.
I expected to be awake for hours. That was how nights usually went—staring at the ceiling, dragging breath after breath through a chest too tight to relax, waiting for the ghosts to come knocking behind my eyelids.
Especially now, with her here, asleep just inches away.
It should’ve made the tension worse. I should’ve been restless, overthinking, questioning every inhale. Instead, I just… listened. To her breathing. To the steady hum of the world beyond the window. To the quiet rhythm of a moment I didn’t want to break.
And then it happened.
Somewhere between the sound of her exhale and the weight of the blankets, my thoughts slowed.
My body stopped bracing.
