Jamie woke slowly.

Not the groggy, panicked kind of wake-up where everything felt wrong.

The other kind—the kind that felt like surfacing from deep water into warm air.

The pillow smelled like vanilla.

The blanket was heavier than the ones at his parents’ place, softer too. And there was warmth pressed along his back, steady and close, with a chin tucked near his shoulder and an arm draped over his waist like someone had been afraid to let go even in sleep.

Jamie didn’t move. His heart was doing something complicated—half hope, half terror, half the quiet urge to close his eyes again and pretend this wasn’t happening so it couldn’t be taken away. Behind him, Lena breathed slow and even. Still asleep. Still here.

Jamie stared at the wall and let the reality settle into his bones.

He was wearing the Sailor Moon tee.

The pink joggers. He was in Lena’s bed, in Lena’s arms, and neither of them had woken up screaming or fighting or pretending the last four years were fine.

It wasn’t fine.

But it was something. He turned his head, just a fraction, just enough to catch a glimpse of her: Lena’s face slack with sleep, lashes dark against her cheeks, mouth slightly open in a way that should’ve been embarrassing but was actually kind of cute.

Jamie’s chest ached.

He stayed still for a long time, just breathing. Eventually Lena stirred. Not dramatically—just a soft sound, a tightening of her arm, and then a slow blink as she surfaced.

Her eyes found Jamie’s immediately.

For a second, neither of them spoke.

Then Lena’s face split into a sleepy, crooked smile.

“Hi,” she murmured.

Jamie’s throat went tight.

“Hi.”

Lena didn’t let go. She just adjusted, pulling him a little closer, like the night hadn’t been enough.

“Sleep okay?”

Jamie nodded, small.

“Yeah.”

Lena’s smile softened.

“Good.”

They lay there in the quiet for another few minutes, neither one rushing to get up, neither one ready to let the moment end. Eventually Lena’s stomach made a small, dignified sound.

Jamie huffed a breath that was almost a laugh.

Lena’s cheeks went pink.

“Okay. Food. But first—”

She pointed at him like she was issuing a decree.

“You are putting on my varsity hoodie.”

Jamie blinked.

“What?”

Lena was already moving, untangling herself with the efficiency of someone who had made a Decision. She grabbed the hoodie off the back of her chair—soft, worn, with her name stitched across the back in familiar block letters—and held it up like an offering.

“Put this on,” she said.

Jamie stared at it.

His heart did something weird.

“Lena, I can’t—”

“You can,”

Lena interrupted, firm.

“And you will. Because you’re going to walk downstairs in my clothes, and I’m going to walk next to you, and nobody is going to ask you questions you don’t want to answer.”

Jamie’s breath caught.

Lena’s voice softened.

“I just want you to feel safe. Okay?”

Jamie looked at the hoodie for a long moment.

Then he reached out and took it.

Lena’s whole face lit up.

Jamie pulled it on, and it swallowed him. Sleeves too long, hem falling past his hips, her name right there across his back like a declaration.

It smelled like her.

It felt like armor.

Lena’s eyes went bright and shiny, but she blinked it away fast.

“Okay,” she said, voice cracking slightly.

“Perfect. Let’s go.”

Jamie kept his eyes on the steps, one hand in Lena’s, the other half-lost in the sleeve of her varsity hoodie. It hung on him like armor made out of softness, unzipped and warm, smelling so strongly of her that his brain kept trying to reboot.

Lena walked one step ahead, just enough to block him from the world.

Not obvious.

Not dramatic. Just positioned. Like she’d decided she was a shield and that was that. At the bottom, the kitchen light was on, low and warm.

The rest of the house was still dim.

The dishwasher hummed faintly.

The clock ticked too loud. Four adults were there in the way adults became furniture when they were trying not to be. They all looked up at once.

Jamie’s stomach dipped.

His mom’s gaze snapped to his face and softened so fast it almost hurt.

His dad’s jaw tightened like he was swallowing a question. Aunt Penny’s eyes went bright immediately. Uncle Alex’s expression did that careful-lawyer thing—present, controlled, trying not to make anything worse.

Lena tightened her grip on Jamie’s hand.

“Morning,” she said, too bright, like she was trying to staple normal to the walls.

“Morning,”

Aunt Penny echoed, gentle.

She didn’t move closer.

She didn’t rush them. His mom stood so fast her chair scraped, and then she froze, like she’d realized standing might look like pressure.

She swallowed and forced herself to move slowly.

“Hi, honey.”

Jamie’s throat locked up.

He nodded instead.

His dad shifted forward half a step and stopped, instinct fighting itself.

“Hey, bud,” he said softly.

Jamie nodded again, too small.

Uncle Alex cleared his throat.

“So. Everyone survived the night. Love to see it.”

Lena shot him a look that said, don’t.

Uncle Alex lifted both hands.

“I’m being normal.”

Aunt Penny made a tiny sound that might’ve been a laugh.

“Alex.”

Lena tugged Jamie a fraction closer, like she was quietly reestablishing the cuddle lock in public.

Then she jerked her chin toward the pantry.

“Food. He needs food.”

Jamie blinked at her.

She glanced back, eyes soft.

“Okay?”

Jamie managed, rough and quiet, “Okay.”

Aunt Penny moved first, quick and quiet, pulling two bowls from a cabinet like she was grateful for something simple.

His dad opened the pantry and grabbed the cereal without looking at anyone. His mom reached for the milk and then paused, watching Jamie like she was trying to read what he could handle. Lena guided him to a chair at the table, the one that put her beside him, not across.

She nudged him down with a hand on his shoulder like it was muscle memory.

Jamie sat.

The hoodie pooled around his lap.

The stitched name on it felt loud.

His mom’s eyes flicked to it and went shiny.

She looked away fast. Aunt Penny set a bowl in front of Jamie, then another in front of Lena. Plain Cheerios. No fanfare. No questions.

“Here you go,”

Aunt Penny said softly.

“Thanks,”

Jamie managed, voice hoarse.

His mom’s breath caught at the sound of it.

She didn’t flinch.

She just nodded, once, like she was holding herself together with her teeth.

Jamie took a bite.

It was just cereal. Dry, a little bland, exactly safe. His stomach reminded him, abruptly, that he’d been running on adrenaline and guilt for… a while.

He took another bite.

Then another.

Lena ate too, fast and practical, like she was proving a point to the universe. Uncle Alex leaned against the counter and aimed his attention at the toaster like it was the most fascinating object in the room.

“For the record,” he said lightly, “we have been terrified of making noise since, like, midnight.”

Aunt Penny gave him a look.

“Alex.”

“What? I’m not wrong.”

His voice softened a notch.

“We were happy you were sleeping.”

Jamie’s fingers tightened around Lena’s hand.

Lena squeezed back. Aunt Penny’s voice slid into the quiet, careful and steady.

“No one has to talk about anything right now.”

His dad nodded once.

“We can just do breakfast.”

His mom’s voice wobbled.

“We’re just glad you’re here.”

Jamie stared at his bowl like it contained instructions.

His throat burned.

He took another bite because it was easier than speaking. Beside him, Lena’s thumb brushed over his knuckles once, small and grounding.

Jamie kept eating.