Morning crept in gently, like it knew better than to startle them.

The lamp was still on, throwing a warm puddle of light across the carpet. The rest of the room had gone soft-blue with early daylight, the kind that made everything look quieter than it really was. Outside the window, a bird tried a few tentative notes and then went all-in, as if it had never heard of tact.

Jamie woke first.

Not all at once. Not alert. Just… surfacing, slow and confused, like he’d been underwater for years and someone had finally pulled him up without yanking.

For a moment he didn’t know where he was.

Then his body registered it: warmth behind him, arms around his waist, legs hooked around his like a seatbelt. A steady breath against his neck. Weight. Pressure. The unmistakable, impossible feeling of being held.

Panic tried to flare, sharp and automatic.

Where am I? Why is someone touching me? Move. Get up. Don’t—

He went to shift and couldn’t.

Cuddle lock.

Immediate.

His breath caught.

A flash of last night came back in pieces: the stairs, the door, Lena’s face, the way she’d shoved him backward onto the bed like she’d decided his nervous system was her problem now. The Sailor Moon tee. The pale pink joggers. The word “Lele” leaving his mouth like it belonged there.

His throat tightened.

He held perfectly still, like if he moved even an inch it would shatter. Like the universe might notice him being happy and correct it out of spite.

Behind him, Lena made a small sound in her sleep. A soft, unhappy little huff, like she was disagreeing with a dream.

Her arms tightened.

Not hard. Not painful. Just… firmer. A reflex, protective. Like she sensed him drifting away and pulled him back without waking.

Jamie swallowed.

His hands were tucked against his chest. He slowly, carefully moved one, inch by inch, until his fingers found hers where they rested over his stomach. He hesitated like he didn’t deserve to touch her, then let his fingertips settle over her knuckles.

Lena’s breathing changed.

A tiny inhale, like she’d caught his movement on some instinctive frequency.

Then she mumbled, thick with sleep, “No.”

Jamie froze. “No?”

Lena’s face pressed into the back of his shoulder. Her voice came out deeper, grumpier, unmistakably half-asleep. “No leaving.”

His chest squeezed. “I’m not—”

“Shh,” Lena said, immediately, like she’d trained him. “Still. Stay.”

Jamie blinked at the ceiling, emotions piling up too fast to label. His eyes burned, but he kept his breathing even, because crying felt like it would wake her, and waking her felt like risking everything.

Lena’s hand shifted under his, and she laced her fingers through his with sloppy sleep-confidence. She tugged their joined hands closer, tucking them snug against his stomach like she was putting the world back where it belonged.

Then she sighed, long and satisfied.

“Good,” she murmured. “My girl.”

Jamie’s heart stuttered.

His brain tried to grab the word and interrogate it, to shove it into the “dangerous” pile, to remind him of everything he wasn’t brave enough to say.

But he was warm. He was safe. He was being held.

And Lena’s voice had sounded so certain, like she’d said something obvious.

Jamie’s throat worked. He whispered, almost soundlessly, “Lena…”

“Mhm,” Lena answered, eyes still closed, like she was listening through the pillow.

Jamie couldn’t make the truth come out. Not in daylight. Not with his voice. Not with the fear that it would change everything.

So he said the only thing he could manage without breaking.

“I’m still here,” he whispered.

Lena’s mouth curved faintly against his shoulder, half a smile in the dark. “I know.” Her arms tightened again, one last gentle squeeze, like punctuation. “I can feel you.”

Jamie let out a shaky breath that turned into something dangerously close to a laugh.

Lena hummed, content, already sliding back under. “Sleep. You look… better.”

Jamie’s eyelids went heavy again, the panic dissolving into a soft, stunned ache.

He shifted the tiniest bit, settling back into her like his body had been built to fit there. Like it remembered something his mind had tried to forget.

Behind him, Lena kissed the side of his neck once, quick and absent-minded, and mumbled, “Love you,” like it was as normal as breathing.

Jamie went completely still.

His eyes burned.

He didn’t say it back.

Not because he didn’t mean it.

Because he meant it too much.

So he squeezed her hand instead, the smallest, fiercest answer he could give.

And with Lena’s arms around him like a vow, Jamie let himself fall asleep again—deeper this time—his face smoothing out into that rare, peaceful calm, as if his body finally believed, for a little while, that he didn’t have to fight the morning.