The Realm of Mischief glittered and flexed around us like it knew we were happy and wanted to show off. And me? I wasn't just surviving it. I was thriving. But eventually… when the stars softened and the laughter started to echo instead of ring, I slipped away. Quiet. Certain. The bedroom was still. Exactly as I'd left it. No glitter. No horns. No marching bands. Just quiet. Arbor sighed the door shut behind me like he understood. I peeled off the cape. Toed off my boots. Let my hair fall loose. Then I crawled onto the bed, the faint glow of the new runes still clinging to my skin, my lips curved in a smile I didn't have to perform.
I exhaled. Not because I was overwhelmed. Not because I was escaping. But because I had learned to protect this space. Mine. Ours. Even with chaos in my bones and laughter still on my tongue… I still deserved silence.
I didn't hear him come in. The room didn't change, not really. Still quiet. Still soft. Still mine. But the air warmed the moment he crossed the threshold, like the Realm itself sighed. He didn't speak. No grand entrance. No smug remark. Just the faint sound of his bare feet on the floor and the quiet exhale he only ever let out in this room. With me. I lay on my side, half-curled into the pillows. My braid was undone at the ends. The rune-glow had dimmed to an ember. He didn't ask if I needed him. He just came.
The mattress dipped carefully as he sat beside me, not shifting it too much, not disturbing the quiet that had settled over my skin like stardust. His hand brushed a strand of hair from my cheek. The other found mine, fingers curling gently between them. Anchoring me. Present. I sighed, soft. Content. Didn't open my eyes. Didn't need to. He leaned in and pressed a kiss to the top of my head. Slow. Warm. Breath lingering like a promise he didn't need to say. He began to braid my hair. Not for function. Not for show. Just because he loved me. Because being here, touching me, basking in nearness was enough to undo him. His fingers moved carefully, reverently, weaving strand by strand. Not because I needed taming. Not because I needed fixing. Because this was building. Because chaos had always been his weapon, breaking, bending, unmaking. But this?
This was proof he could create something soft. Something lasting. Something that stayed. I'd been told all my life that I was property. That he was destruction in a pretty suit. But here we were. Hands braiding hair under candlelight. Breath warm against my temple. Here, he could be mine. Gods, wasn't that the only miracle either of us had ever wanted?
He finished slowly, kissing the crown of my head as he tucked the last strand in place. I shifted, barely, and the tiniest contented sigh slipped from my lips. He smiled into my hair. I felt it. Arms tightening just a little. Once, he would have called that a victory. Now? It was gratitude. Because I wasn't a battle to win. I was peace. I stayed. Even when the world didn't deserve me, I stayed. He let the braid fall against my shoulder, then kissed my temple. My cheek. Just beneath my jaw. Not rushed. Not needy. Just grateful. So grateful it ached.
"You don't have to say anything," he whispered, so softly I might've dreamed it. "I just… needed to be near you."
I turned slightly, opening my eyes at last. Our gazes met. I had never seen anyone look so completely undone by happiness.
"I'm here," I whispered. He smiled. That soft one. The one no one else ever saw.
"I know. That is everything."
He held my hands like they were relics made of starfire and sugar. "Hold still," he breathed. He kissed them. Not just the palms. Every curve. Every line. Every rune. Left. Right. Palm. Wrist. Knuckle. He pressed my hand against his chest, over his heart like he was afraid it might stop if he let go. I shifted into his arms, cheek against his chest, our fingers still laced, my breath soft and steady. No tension. No flinches. No whispered cries in the dark. I hadn't had a nightmare in over a month. Every night without one felt like a miracle.
He watched me drift. Not because he was worried. Because he was happy. Utterly, devastatingly happy. That I was here. That I was safe. That I was his. My braid rested against my shoulder. His fingers traced it like a prayer. The room was silent. Not magically so. Just… content.
His lips brushed my temple and he whispered words that belonged only to me: "My Always."
I didn't stir. I didn't need to. Because I already knew. As the Realm of Mischief curled around us like a blanket of moonlight, I let myself believe it. I didn't need to perform. I didn't need to fill the silence. Because this? This was the dream. He was still there when I woke.