The next day, Xavier woke up around noon. He lay there for a moment, staring at the ceiling, one arm pinned under Lyra's leg and the other half-numb from where her arm was slung over him. Her breathing was slow and warm against his chest. He sighed quietly, the memory of last night replaying in fragments — the endless food deliveries, Lyra slumped asleep on the couch, and then him carrying her to her room like she weighed nothing before crashing into his own bed.
He hadn't even realized when Lyra had slipped in. All he remembered was waking up in the middle of the night to find her sprawled on top of him, her hair brushing against his neck. He'd tried pushing her off a few times, but she kept climbing back in her sleep, like her instincts refused to let her drift too far from him. By the fourth time, he just gave up, resting his arm behind his head and letting her sleep where she wanted.
