I sit on the edge of the bed, elbows braced on my knees. I’m not one to get nervous. I don’t lose control. But Lucas—he does something to me. He makes me restless in ways I can’t name. My mind keeps replaying the way he felt against me, the way his voice cracked when he moaned my name. But the way his eyes look now is hesitant, unsure, like he’s terrified of what this could mean.
The sound of the bathroom door unlocking snaps me out of my thoughts.
And he steps out.
He’s wearing my clothes—an oversized white shirt that swallows his frame and black sweatpants that are too loose on him. His hair falls into his eyes, bare feet soundless on the floor. He hesitates in the doorway, arms wrapped around himself, and he doesn’t look at me, not fully. But his posture says everything—the awkwardness, the uncertainty.
“Come here, Lucas,” I say, not taking my eye away from him.
He breathes in sharply, throat bobbing as he swallows. Then, slowly, he moves forward. Each step measured, careful, until he’s standing right in front of me.
Silence stretches, but it doesn’t feel empty. It feels… charged. His cheeks are pink, his lashes lowered, his fingers twisting together at his sides like he doesn’t know what to do with them.
“Are you hungry?” My voice is quieter than I expect, softer.
He shakes his head, glances down, then up again—meeting my gaze for the first time since the bathroom. His voice is small but certain when he says,
“I just feel… sleepy.”
I nod, reaching for him. My fingers circle his wrist, gentle but firm, and I tug him toward me. He lets out a soft gasp as I ease him onto the bed, his body yielding under my touch. But he doesn’t resist.
The mattress dips as he settles beside me, curling in instinctively, his head resting close to my chest. He feels so small like this, folded into me, his warmth seeping through the fabric of my shirt. Without thinking, I slide an arm around him, holding him against me.
“Then sleep,” I murmur.
His lips part, like he’s about to say something, but then he exhales shakily instead. Almost like he’s letting go. His eyes flutter shut, and I drag my fingers idly through his hair, tracing the soft curls, grounding myself in the feel of him. Within minutes, his breathing evens out, steady and calm.
He loves this—sleep, food, the simple comforts. I notice it every day. The way his entire being softens when he allows himself these small moments of peace.
I stay awake, listening to his breaths. My chest rises with them, slow and steady, as if my body is in sync with his. He stirs after a while, shifting closer in his sleep, pressing into me. His nose brushes against my collarbone, his hand spreading across my chest like he’s claiming me in his dreams.
Something deep inside me flutters at that. He trusts me enough to sleep like this. To give me his weight, his quiet vulnerability. He looks so peaceful like this, and it does something dangerous to me because I want to protect this. Protect him.
I don’t move. I don’t even breathe too deeply, afraid of disturbing him.
Then my phone vibrates on the nightstand.
I ignore it.
It buzzes again. Reluctantly, I ease out from under him, careful, painfully careful not to wake him. He stirs, frowns in his sleep, but doesn’t open his eyes as I stand.
The name on the screen flashes. Ashley.
I exhale sharply and step out of the bedroom before answering.
“What is it, Ashley?”
“Are you busy, Mr. Petrov?” Her voice is calm as always.
“No.”
“You need to know something.”
I press my hand over my face, walking downstairs, already bracing myself. “Go on.”
“It’s about Lucas.”
I pause. “What about him?”
