“Yeah,” I say, stroking my thumb along his hand. “Of course that’s okay.”
He nods, almost to himself, then lets me lead the way down the hall.
The room is dim, only the glow from the streetlights outside filtering in through the curtains. I pull my hoodie over my head while Gabe sits on the edge of the bed, taking off his socks. The sight of him there, trembling fingers curled in the hem of his cardigan like he’s not sure what to do with it, breaks my heart.
I cross the room and sit beside him. “You sure you don’t want me to take the sofa?” I ask quietly. “I really don’t mind.”
He shakes his head, still looking at the floor, then peeks up through his lashes. “I know I’m being stupid, we’ve shared a bed before.” He huffs out a self-deprecating laugh.
I brush my knuckles along the back of his hand. “You’re not… you’re allowed to feel nervous.”
He takes a deep breath, closing his eyes and holding it. When they flutter open, he looks a bit more settled, his fingers close around mine, and he squeezes. “I want to stay here with you. I liked waking up beside you.”
“Me too.”
Waking to the feel of him, the warm scent of amberwood and lavender was a dream.
I kiss his cheek and stand, grabbing sleep clothes for us both. We change in silence, Gabe turning away when he pulls off his cardigan and folds it neatly on the desk chair. I catch flashes of pale skin as he swaps his shirt for a sleep tee, the muscles in his back shifting under the fabric. My mouth goes dry, but I force my gaze to the nightstand, so I don’t invade his privacy.
I put on sweats and a hoodie. I’ll probably spend the night sweating, but I want to give him that barrier between us. When we crawl under the covers, we end up lying on our sides, facing each other, a cautious foot of space between us. My pulse pounds in my ears, my body thrumming with the nearness of him. I don’t want to push, but the longing in my heart won’t let me stay silent.
“Can I hold you?” The words come out gruffer than I meant, like they’d been waiting in my throat a lifetime to finally be freed.
For a second, he just blinks rapidly. Then, slowly, he nods and shuffles to turn the other way. I close the space until my chest is against his back and my arm slides around his middle. He exhales, sinking back into me. It’s all I’ve ever wanted and never thought I’d have.
I tuck my face against his hair and breathe him in. His fingers burrow under my sleeve to rest over my forearm, lightly brushing the hair there. How much I want him is overwhelming—my body very aware of his when we’re this close, every shift and breath—but underneath it is deeper emotion.
I want him to feel safe here.
Safe with me.
“Go to sleep, baby,” I murmur against his hair, placing a gentle kiss there.
He hums in response, already halfway there.
I stay awake longer, holding him, memorizing the shape of him in my arms.
I want every day to end just like this.
30
GABE
I wake to warmth at my back. It takes me a few seconds to realize where I am, tucked against Noah in his bed, his arm heavy over my waist. His chest rises and falls evenly against my back, breath warm where it tickles my neck. I smile to myself. The room is pale with early morning light. I just lie there. Completely still. Letting the moment sink into the broken parts of me.
I can’t remember the last time I slept that well. I didn’t wake every hour with my heart racing. No nightmares found me. It’s almost disorienting, this sense of safety, of being so thoroughly at ease that I could stay here forever and let the world pass without me.
I don’t want to wake him, but I need to check on Ciarán. Carefully, I lift his arm off my waist and slip out of bed. The floor is cool under my bare feet as I pad to the bathroom. I wash my face and brush my teeth, trying to be quiet.
The apartment is silent as I cross the hall. I crack the door an inch to find Ciarán still sleeping in my bed, blanket tangled around him, one bare foot sticking out at an odd angle. His hairis a riot of black waves on the pillow, soft snores the only sound. He looks so peaceful.
Back in Noah’s bedroom, he hasn’t woken. He’s sprawled on his stomach now, face turned toward where I slept on the bed. His hoodie has ridden up, exposing a strip of warm-looking skin above the waistband of his sweats. I know he usually sleeps in briefs, I’ve seen him come and go from his room in the mornings. So he dressed like that last night to make me feel comfortable. I’d like to say it was unnecessary, but honestly, it did make me feel more comfortable.
I slip under the covers, trying not to jostle him. I settle on my side, facing him, and watch him sleep.
It should feel intrusive, but it doesn’t, not with him. His mouth is soft, his lashes long, the faintest hint of dark golden stubble shadowing his jaw. His face is so familiar from years of orbiting each other, but it’s different now. Older and more handsome, he’s grown to be such a beautiful man, inside and out. He’s all muscle and broad shoulders, but like this—half-buried in his pillow, relaxed and warm—he looks softer. The sight makes something inside me bubble over with a strange, bright happiness I’m not used to feeling. I like him here, beside me in the morning.
Noah stirs after a while, blinking against the morning light. His gaze lands on me, and a sleepy smile curves his mouth.
