Chapter 9
Danny
I stir slowly, the kind of waking where reality filters in like sunlight through half-closed blinds. Except there’s no sunlight now. It’s very much nighttime.
My body feels heavy, relaxed in a way it hasn't been since... well, since before this whole job started. The couch is soft beneath me, Olivier's arm still draped loosely around my shoulders, a warm anchor.
I blink, adjusting to the dim light of the apartment.
The city skyline twinkles outside the massive windows, night fully settled in.
How long was I out?
My eyes focus on the TV screen across the room. It's on, but silent—an old black and white movie playing out in mute gestures and dramatic expressions. Looks like one of those classic film noirs, maybe Casablanca or something similar, with sharp-suited men and elegant women exchanging intense glances.
It’s a definite vibe, that’s for sure.
Olivier sits next to me, remote in hand, watching with quiet intensity. The volume's off, probably so he wouldn't wake me. That's thoughtful. It’s very Daddy-like.
Damn, Olivier’s what I’ve always dreamt of.
A soft smile creeps onto my face as I watch him, unaware I'm awake yet. His profile is strong, the silver in his beard catching the glow from the screen, making him look even more distinguished. He’s like a man who's seen life, conquered it, and now enjoys the quiet moments.
My mind drifts back to childhood—those rare nights when I'd sneak downstairs after bedtime, curling up on the old couch while my parents watched late-night movies. The black and white ones were my favorites. They felt magical, otherworldly.
I'd pretend to be asleep if they noticed, but really, I was soaking it all in—the stories, the romance, the way the shadows played. Staying up late felt like a secret adventure, a glimpse into grown-up world.
Except of course, I never really wanted to grow up. Even as a grew taller, broader, and my voice deepened, I always longed for those days of sneaking a late night movie and feeling like an innocent child. It doesn’t take a genius to work out that this is where the whole Little thing developed. Maybe it was always inside me, waiting to get out.
Hey, I’ll save all that talk for a therapist one day though LOL.
Now, here I am, envisioning a future like that with Olivier. Us on this very couch, maybe with the volume low, sharing popcorn or just each other's warmth. Him explaining the plot twists, me leaning into him, Lexi between us.
Weekends where work doesn't pull us apart…
Olivier not buried in the kitchen till dawn, me not hauling across states. A life where distance isn't a barrier, where we build something real. It's a sweet dream, one that makes my chest ache with want.
But reality kicks me in the nuts once more.
Different cities, his crazy hours, my travel with the crew.
Still, in this moment, it feelspossible.
Olivier shifts slightly, glancing down. His eyes soften when he sees I'm awake, and he reaches over, fingers gently stroking through my hair. His touch is tender, rhythmic, like petting a contented cat—or should that be dragon?
Warmth blooms inside me, spreading from my scalp down to my toes—a cozy, safe feeling that makes me want to burrow closer. No one's ever touched me like this, so casually affectionate, like it's the most natural thing.
"Hey, sleepyhead," Olivier murmurs, voice low and gravelly. "Welcome back."
I stretch a little, pacifier still in my mouth—wait, when did that happen?
Oh, right. Now I remember.
I pop it out, blushing.
"Sorry, Daddy,” I say, the D-word coming to me naturally. “I didn't mean to crash like that, ruin our evening."
Olivier chuckles softly, hand still in my hair.
