She was upstairs, asleep. And all I could think about was how easy it would be to ruin it. To tell her how much space she already took up in me, when she didn’t even know it.
She deserved peace.
Not pressure.
Not me folding under the weight of want and calling it protection.
I took a breath, long and slow, and let it settle into my lungs like a warning.
This wasn’t just about keeping her safe anymore.
And I was in no shape to tell her the truth.
I stepped back into the bedroom, the soft creak of the door swallowed by the hush that had settled over everything. The room was dark, lit only by the thin strip of moonlight slicing across the bed. She was still there—small beneath the weight of my comforter, curled like a secret the night had decided to keep.
I sat down, not too close.
But not far enough.
Just near enough to watch her breathe, to feel her presence like a heat I couldn’t walk away from. I told myself I was only here to check on her. That was a lie I didn’t bother dressing up anymore.
I leaned in—slow, cautious. My fingers reached before I gave them permission. I brushed a lock of hair from her cheek, soft as a whisper, and let my hand linger there longer than I should’ve.
Her skin was warm. Too warm for someone who always claimed my house was freezing. She shifted slightly, breath hitching just once.
Then she murmured my name in her sleep.
Barely audible. Barely real.
But it landed like a blade in the center of my chest.
I didn’t move. Didn’t breathe. Just sat there, watching her dream of me—whatever version of me she saw when her guard was down and the world couldn’t touch her.
My heart twisted. Tightened.
She had no idea.
No idea how deep I was already in.
And time—this ridiculous, stupid bet, this deadline hanging over our heads—was running out. Every hour ticked louder than the last.
But for now, I sat in the dark, watching her sleep, pretending it didn’t already feel like loss.
The heat caught up with me before I even made it to the bed. Too much. Too close. Too her.
I pulled my shirt over my head and tossed it onto the chair with more force than necessary, like shedding the weight in my chest could start with fabric. It didn’t help. Nothing could help.
I slid beneath the covers slowly, careful not to jostle her. The sheets were still warm from her body, soft and lived-in in a way my bed had never felt until now. Her breath ghosted across my bare shoulder—slow, steady, unaware. And yet it rippled through me like thunder, shaking loose things I wasn’t prepared to confront.
This… this wasn’t sex. It wasn’t lust or adrenaline or noise. It was quiet. And it was worse.
All the nights I’d filled with cold bodies and colder exits couldn’t hold a candle to this—her, sleeping, mouth slightly open, sighing like the weight of the world had finally slipped off her shoulders. Like she felt safe here. With me.
And that was the part that undid me.
I stared at her for a long moment. The freckles along her nose. The way her lashes fanned against her cheeks. There was something innocent about her in sleep that didn’t exist when she was awake—when she was fire and sarcasm and bite.
“What are you doing to me?” I asked the dark, my voice a whisper torn from the part of me that still pretended to be in control.
