"Very eloquent. Truly, your gift for language knows no bounds."
"Too early for sarcasm."
"It's never too early for sarcasm. Sarcasm is my love language."
He huffs a laugh against my skin. It's warm, soft, nothing like the controlled sounds he makes in public. This is the real him. The one only I get to see.
"How do you feel?" he asks.
"Like I slept. So, pretty fucking good." I stretch, feeling my joints pop, feeling the pleasant ache in muscles that are finally learning to relax. "Also, your brother's cabin is ridiculous. Who has a view like this? Rich people. Rich people have views like this."
"We're not rich. We're well-funded."
"Same thing."
"Really not."
I roll over to face him, and his arm adjusts automatically, settling around my waist again. His eyes are soft in the early light, the color of clouds before a storm. Sleep has left creases on his cheek from the pillow, and he’s got a line of dried drool down his cheek.
"You have pillow face," I tell him.
"You have morning breath."
"Rude. Accurate, but rude."
"How do you feel?" he asks again, more seriously this time. "No nightmares?"
"None that I remember." I think about it, searching for the usual residue of terror that follows me out of sleep. There's nothing. Just warmth and safety and the solid weight of his arm across my body. "You?"
"No."
"Really?"
"Really." He sounds almost surprised by it. "I don't remember the last time I slept through the night."
"Maybe you just needed a proper mattress. Though yours is pretty good. Bit hard for my taste."
"Maybe." His hand traces up my spine, fingertips light against the bumps of my vertebrae. "Or maybe I just needed you."
The words are quiet. Almost shy. From anyone else, they'd sound like a line. From Jagger, they sound like a confession being dragged out of him against his will.
I kiss him because I don't know what else to do. Soft and slow, morning breath and all. He kisses back the same way, no urgency, no heat. Just connection. Just two people learning how to be gentle with each other after a lifetime of walking on glass shards.
"What do you want to do today?" he asks as we break apart.
"Is 'stay in bed forever' an option?"
"Probably not. We have planning to do. Calls to make. Brothers to coordinate with."
"That sounds exhausting. I vote for bed."
"You can't just vote for bed."
"Watch me." I snuggle deeper into the covers, pulling him with me. "Bed wins. Democracy has spoken."
He shakes his head, but he's smiling. Actually smiling, not just the almost-smile I've grown used to. It transforms his face, makes him look boyish and kinda goofy.
"One hour," he says. "Then we get up."
