His breathing is slow and even, warm against the back of my neck. He’s still asleep. I can feel his heartbeat through his chest, steady and calm, like it’s anchoring me.
For a second, I just stay still.
No alarms. No dread. No guilt.
Just quiet.
Christmas morning light filters in through the windows, pale and soft, turning everything gold. The world feels paused, like it’s holding its breath with me.
I don’t remember deciding to trust him again.
But here I am.
Wrapped up. Safe. Warm.
Loved — even if we haven’t said it out loud again yet.
I tilt my head slightly, enough to see his face. Relaxed. Younger like this. No sharp edges. No armor. Just Leo.
My chest tightens.
This is what I was afraid of.
Not getting hurt.
Getting this back.
I move carefully, trying not to wake him, but his arm tightens instinctively, pulling me closer. His chin dips, brushing my hair.
“Hey,” he murmurs, voice rough with sleep.
I smile before I can stop myself.
“Hey.”
“Merry Christmas,” he says, eyes still closed.
“Merry Christmas,” I whisper.
We don’t move for a while.
And for now, that’s enough.
“Feel like breaking the internet today?” he asks.
His voice is still rough with sleep, warm and lazy in my ear.
I blink, tilt my head just enough to look at him. One eye open. Hair a mess. Smile crooked and hopeful like he already knows the answer but doesn’t want to assume.
“What?” I say.
He gestures vaguely between us. “I mean… look at us.”
I glance down.
Matching Christmas pajamas. Red plaid. Reindeer. I’m wrapped in his arms, hair wild, face bare, cheeks flushed from sleep. He looks unfairly good for someone who fell asleep halfway through a terrible Christmas rom-com.
“We both look hot,” he adds, dead serious. “In these Christmas-laid jammies. With reindeer.”
