Riri woke to warmth and the steady rhythm of breathing that wasn't hers.
Samael's arm was draped across her waist, his chest pressed against her back, his presence solid and grounding through the Bond. Morning light filtered through the windows, casting the bedroom in soft gold.
She lay still for a moment, cataloging sensations. His hand splayed across her stomach. The faint pressure of his chin resting against her shoulder. The way their breathing had synchronized during sleep.
Three weeks of this. Three weeks of falling asleep together and waking up tangled. It had stopped feeling temporary somewhere around day ten.
The alarm hadn't gone off. No missions today. Rest day. The first true break since Mandatory Missions had started.
Samael stirred behind her, his arm tightening fractionally before consciousness fully returned. Through the Bond she felt him wake, awareness spreading through his thoughts in clean layers.
"Morning," she said quietly.
"Morning." His voice was rough with sleep, deeper than usual. His hand moved in a slow circle against her stomach. "No alarm."
"Rest day."
"Good." He pressed his face into her hair and inhaled. The gesture was casual, familiar, like scent-checking had become routine. "Stay here."
"I need coffee."
"Stay anyway."
His mouth found the curve where her neck met her shoulder. Not quite a kiss, just presence. Warm and deliberate and completely shameless about wanting to keep her exactly where she was.
Riri's pulse kicked. "You said we could do whatever I wanted today."
"I'm doing what I want." His teeth grazed her skin lightly. "You can have coffee later."
"Samael."
"Mm." The sound vibrated against her throat.
Through the Bond she felt his satisfaction. He was enjoying this. Enjoying the way her breathing had changed, the way her body had gone still against his, waiting to see what he'd do next.
"Five more minutes," he said against her neck. "Then I'll make you coffee."
"You're bribing me with caffeine."
"Is it working?"
"Yes."
His low laugh ghosted across her skin. "Good."
Five minutes turned into ten. His hand stayed on her stomach, thumb tracing patterns she was starting to recognize as one of his tells. When Samael was content, his hands moved. Small touches, absent patterns, constant contact that communicated possession without words.
She'd stopped minding somewhere around the third day.
When he finally released her, it was with obvious reluctance. He rolled out of bed in one fluid motion and pulled on sleep pants from the floor. Bare chest, hair still mussed from sleep, moving through the morning routine with the same controlled economy he brought to everything.
Riri watched him go, then pulled herself upright and stretched. Her body felt good. Rested. The Constitution investment had made a real difference in recovery time.
She found clean clothes in the closet—soft leggings and an oversized shirt that was definitely Samael's but had migrated to her side of the wardrobe at some point. It smelled like him. She pulled it on anyway.
The smell of coffee hit her when she emerged from the bedroom. Samael stood in the kitchen, two mugs already on the counter, pouring with the focused attention he gave to everything.
Loki lifted his head from where he'd been sprawled near the sectional. Kirin shifted in the reading chair. Vesper materialized on the kitchen island. Vermillion descended from the ceiling in slow spirals.
All four companions registering the start of the day, checking status through bonds, finding everything acceptable.
Samael slid a mug across the counter to Riri. Black, no sugar, exactly how she took it.
She caught it and drank, the warmth spreading through her chest. "Thank you."
"You said you wanted the System Mall today." He leaned against the counter, his own mug in hand. "We're going after breakfast."
"We?"
His expression didn't change, but amusement pulsed through the Bond. "You're not going alone."
"I can handle shopping."
"I know you can." He took a drink of coffee, watching her over the rim. "I'm coming anyway."
The possessiveness in that statement was casual and absolute. He wasn't asking permission. He was stating fact. Where she went, he went. End of discussion.
Riri found she didn't mind that either.
"Fine. But I'm buying new gear for Kirin. His armor needs upgrading."
"I'll cover Loki's while we're there." Samael's gaze tracked to the wolf, who'd moved to sit at Riri's feet. "His HP pool has increased enough that defense is becoming the bottleneck."
Companion gear. They were shopping for companion gear together like it was the most normal thing in the world.
It probably was, for Bonded pairs.
Breakfast was simple. Samael cooked eggs while Riri handled toast, their movements around the kitchen coordinated without discussion. Three weeks of shared space had created patterns. She knew he'd take the left burner. He knew she'd pull butter from the top shelf.
They ate at the counter, companions scattered around the living area in various states of alertness. Kirin was still half-asleep in the reading chair. Loki had moved to the window to watch the city below. Vesper groomed himself on the sectional. Vermillion rested on the light fixture.
"We should leave before noon," Samael said between bites. "The Mall gets crowded in the afternoon."
"Crowds are fine."
"Crowds mean other Players getting too close." His tone stayed level, but something tightened in his jaw. "I'd rather avoid that."
Riri looked at him. At the tension that hadn't been there thirty seconds ago. "You don't like other Players near me."
"No."
Simple. Honest. Possessive as hell.
"You realize we're going to a public space," she said carefully. "There will be people."
"I know." He set his fork down with precise control. "And they'll stay at an appropriate distance or I'll make them."
Through the Bond she felt the edge beneath his words. The specific quality of someone who'd already run scenarios and calculated acceptable threat ranges. Samael in combat mode was controlled violence. Samael protecting her was something more territorial.
"Try not to start fights," she said.
"I won't start anything." His mouth curved slightly. "But I'll finish it if someone doesn't understand boundaries."
"That's not reassuring."
"It's honest." He stood and carried his plate to the sink. "Get dressed. We're leaving in twenty minutes."