There was no edge to teeter on, no darkness crawling up from the corners of my mind.
Just warmth.
Her warmth.
A stillness I hadn’t earned—but didn’t want to fight.
My eyes closed.
And I let go.
Without a struggle.
Without a fight.
For the first time in a long, long time, sleep came easy.
I woke before the sun, that gray-blue haze of near-dawn bleeding through the curtains. For a moment, I didn’t move—just floated in that strange, weightless place between sleep and waking. The shadows were still soft, the air still cool. The silence was thick, like snow blanketing everything. And for the first time in what felt like years, there was no heaviness in my chest. No tight coil of dread beneath my ribs. No cold sweat. No fists clenching around memories I didn’t ask for.
Something was missing.
And somehow, that peace—that absence of fear—unnerved me more than the nightmares ever did.
I turned my head slowly, almost reluctant to break whatever spell held the stillness in place. And there she was. Mina. Curled beneath the blankets, hair spilling across my pillow like ink bleeding into untouched canvas. Her lips were parted, breath steady, face soft in a way I rarely got to see. The fire was gone, just for now. In its place, something quiet. Human. Real. I didn’t move closer, not right away. Just watched her breathe, the slow rise and fall pulling me deeper into something I hadn’t dared feel in years.
Safety.
It wasn’t a word I let myself believe in. But right now, in the dim hush of morning, with her beside me and my demons quiet for once, I let myself believe it just a little.
I pushed myself up slowly, careful not to disturb the mattress too much. She didn’t stir. I moved across the room, the air cool against my skin as I made my way to the bathroom. The click of the door, the rush of water—it all felt routine, familiar. But this morning carried a strange weightlessness, like the tension I usually wore had been left on the floor with my clothes.
Steam filled the small space, fogging the mirror, softening the edges of everything. I stepped under the spray and let the water do what it always did—wash away the residue of sleep, of noise, of last night’s violence. The bruises on my ribs tugged and ached, reminders of the fight, but I barely registered them. I was too focused on the quiet hum that had settled under my skin. I let the water drum over my head, my mind drifting, not toward the rink or the press or Mikel—but back to the girl still asleep in my bed.
By the time I was dressed—jeans, black hoodie, simple and solid—I stood in front of the mirror for a beat too long. My reflection looked… lighter. Not weak. Just less burdened. My body still felt used, still healing. But my mind? Clearer than it had been in weeks.
I stepped back into the bedroom, and there she was.
Sprawled diagonally across the bed now, one arm draped dramatically over my pillow, mouth open just enough to catch a little pool of drool on the edge of her chin. It was absurd. And completely disarming.
I smirked.
This wasn’t the sharp-tongued, wild-eyed storm who’d walked into my life with fire in her voice. This was Mina unfiltered—real in a way that made something in me tighten. Not because it was funny. But because it felt… safe.
I watched her for a moment longer than I should have. Every slow breath, every twitch of her fingers, anchored something in me I hadn’t even realized was floating.
She shifted slightly, burrowed deeper into the pillow like it offered sanctuary, and I moved—slow, quiet, across the carpet.
I reached out, brushing a loose strand of hair off her forehead, and let myself smile.
“Wake up,” I murmured, low and amused.
And for once, I didn’t want the moment to end. But I wanted to see what she’d say when it did.
I leaned down, close enough that my breath stirred the loose strands of her hair. “Mina. Wake up.”
She groaned in protest and buried her face deeper into my pillow like she intended to fuse with it. “No. Too early. I reject the concept of morning.”
A grin tugged at the edge of my mouth before I could stop it. “You need clothes,” I said quietly, voice still gravelled with sleep. “And a toothbrush.”
