“I know that too.”
“I’m still going.”
“Good.”
The word was gentler than usual. Not reward. Recognition.
My body settled into the mattress.
Declan noticed anyway. “You sound exhausted.”
“I’m fine.”
“Try again.”
I closed my eyes. “I’m exhausted.”
“There.”
“You’re annoying.”
“Plug your phone in.”
“It is.”
“Across the room?”
I looked at the charger beside my bed. “Technically, the room is around it.”
“Jace.”
I groaned, but I got up. “You’re calling me while making me move away from the phone. This is bad engineering.”
“Speaker.”
I put him on speaker, carried the phone across the room, plugged it into the charger by my dresser, then stood there in the dark like I needed permission to return to my own bed.
“Blankets,” he said.
I went back and slid under them.
“Lights?”
“Off.”
“Water?”
“On the nightstand.”
“Good. Close your eyes.”
I did.
The difference was sharp and immediate. Not because he took over. Because I let him.
I wasn’t spiraling. I wasn’t overloaded. I wasn’t halfway to a panic attack. I could have handled bedtime on my own. Badly maybe, but I could.
I followed because I wanted the shape of his attention around me.
