ALEXIA – POV
The morning light doesn't feel warm.
It slices through the blinds in sharp lines, dust dancing in its path like ash from a long-dead fire. My eyes open slowly, heavy, swollen. Everything aches—not just my body, but somewhere deeper. Somewhere my hands can't reach.
I forget where I am for a second.
Then I feel it.
His arms.
Still around me.
Still holding.
Still here.
My heart stumbles.
I don't move. Not at first.
I'm too afraid it'll vanish the second I shift. Like last night was a fever dream, some elaborate delusion crafted by a desperate mind too exhausted to keep fighting.
But he stirs behind me, breath warming the back of my neck.
A slow inhale.
Then his voice, rough and low: "You're awake."
A lump lodges in my throat.
I nod.
I feel his hand—gentle—brush a strand of hair from my temple, tucking it back behind my ear like it's sacred.
I clench my eyes shut, the burn returning.
This shouldn't be real.
He shouldn't be kind.
Not to me.
