I woke to light creeping in through the blinds, painting lazy gold across the sheets. Mina was curled into my chest, legs tangled with mine, her breath warm against my skin. Everything about her felt soft—quiet, content—like the world outside didn’t exist. I didn’t move. Didn’t want to. There was a stillness here I wasn’t used to, and I wasn’t about to break it.
I lowered my head and pressed a kiss to her bare shoulder, letting it linger longer than I should have. Her skin was warm, smooth, familiar in a way that unsettled me. She stirred, and when her eyes met mine, there was that sleepy smile—the one that knocked the air from my lungs every damn time. I didn’t know what to do with it. All I knew was that it made something in my chest twist tight.
“Morning,” she mumbled, her voice thick and unguarded.
“Yeah.” I barely got the word out. It felt like speaking might wake me from something I wasn’t ready to leave.
She shifted closer, settling into me like she belonged there—like I was something solid she could lean on. I wrapped my arm around her tighter. Her warmth bled into me, grounding me in a way I hadn’t realized I needed. I brushed a lock of hair from her face, memorizing every inch. The curve of her cheek. The faint crease near her lips from sleeping on her side. She looked peaceful. Like someone who had finally found stillness. Or maybe I was projecting.
“What time is it?” she murmured.
I didn’t answer right away. Just kept watching her, committing this to memory. “Don’t worry about it.”
She smiled again, eyes half-lidded. “You’re such a bad influence.”
“Probably,” I murmured, tracing slow circles on her back with my fingers. Her skin was silk under my touch, and every pass reminded me just how close we’d become—and how easy it had been to get here. Too easy.
This—her, us—it was quiet, yes. But it was also dangerous. Because the longer I stayed like this, the harder it would be to walk away. And I wasn’t sure I ever wanted to.
“Tell me something,” I said, not even sure what I wanted her to say—just that I wanted to hear her voice, just a little longer.
“Like what?” she asked, eyes barely open, voice laced with sleep and curiosity.
I shifted slightly, my hand still moving slow patterns across the small of her back. “What you’re thinking about right now.”
She hesitated, just for a second. Then, “About how this feels… how safe you make me feel.”
Those words hit harder than any check I’d ever taken. My fingers stilled. Safe. I’d spent most of my life being the threat in the room, the one people watched from the corner of their eye. And now here she was, tucked against me like I was shelter instead of danger.
“Safe?” I repeated, like maybe if I said it out loud I’d believe it.
She nodded into my chest. “Yeah. Like I can be myself without fear.”
The room went still. That quiet kind of still where nothing dares to move because something too important is hanging in the air. I leaned down, kissed her shoulder again—softer this time. Slower. Not out of hunger, but reverence.
“I’ll miss you,” I said, the words tasting unfamiliar but true.
Her eyes found mine, and whatever was in them made it hard to breathe. There was no fear there. No hesitation. Just something wide open and real.
“You don’t even have to leave yet,” she whispered with a faint smile.
I inhaled through my nose, the answer heavy on my chest. I didn’t want to lie. Didn’t want to promise things I couldn’t control. But I also couldn’t let this—us—get reduced to some countdown clock.
“It's still too soon,” I said. Steady. Sure.
She smiled, but it had an edge—sweet but unsure, like she was already bracing for impact. I didn’t blame her.
I tilted my head until our foreheads met, my hand sliding up to her jaw. “For now,” I murmured against her lips, “let’s just stay here.”
Because I wasn’t ready to let her go. Not yet. Maybe not ever.
I kissed her slowly, deliberately, like I had all the time in the world and nowhere else to be but here—wrapped around her, grounded by her warmth. She sighed into me, soft and sure, her fingers curling at the back of my neck like she was holding on to something real. And she was—because this wasn’t just desire. This was something deeper, quieter. Something that settled into my bones like truth.
I moved with care, letting every brush of my hands, every kiss along her collarbone, say the things I didn’t know how to speak. She wasn’t just beneath me—she was everywhere. In my chest. In the air between our mouths. In the beat of my heart that felt too fast and too certain for someone who once swore he didn’t need anyone.
Her eyes locked with mine, wide and open, no walls between us. That vulnerability undid me more than any moan or gasp ever could. I leaned in, resting my forehead against hers, our breaths tangling like vows we hadn’t said yet. This wasn’t about the rush. It was about the way her body folded into mine like a question with only one answer. Like she’d been waiting for this kind of softness and didn’t quite know how to trust it—until now.
And when we moved together—slow, steady, like a tide that knew its way home—it wasn’t about possession. It was about presence. Being here. With her. In this moment that felt like the only thing that had ever made sense.
