The warmth of the shower still clings to my skin, trapped beneath the fabric of my shirt. I button the last button slowly, my fingers moving with the drowsy weight of someone who has slept too long and too deeply.
My body feels unfamiliar in its relaxation. Joints loose. Muscles untethered. As if I've been unknotted from the inside.
Strange.
After sleeping too much—after sleeping with him curled against me—I feel something I can't name.
Something soft. Something dangerous.
Silas and I slept almost the entire day on that couch. Morning bled into afternoon without either of us noticing. He stayed curled in my arms beneath the blanket, breathing slow and even, lashes resting against his cheeks, fingers curled into the fabric of my shirt like he was afraid I'd disappear if he let go.
Like a soft teddy bear wrapped in warmth.
It's the first time I've slept like that. Without waking. Without the usual pressure building behind my eyes.
Just... comfortable.
