“You want to talk about it?”
No.
If I told him about the laptop, about someone being inside my space, about the file being gone—then it would be real again. I couldn’t deal with it right now. I’d tell him later.
“I’m okay,” I whispered instead.
He didn’t believe me. I could tell. But he didn’t call me out. Instead, his hand moved slowly up and down my back.
“You know,” he said lightly, after a while, “this cross-window service is gonna require a punch card.”
A weak breath of a laugh left me. “Oh yeah?”
“Yeah. Emergency access. Lifetime membership. Whenever you need me.”
I shifted just enough to look up at him in the dim light. He was trying to keep it easy. But his hand never loosened.
“I’ll always show up for you,” he added. “You know that, don’t you?”
“I know. You already do,” I whispered. “You always have…”
His thumb brushed along my jaw. “You good?”
I nodded. But I didn’t move away. “Stay,” I said before I could stop myself. “Please. Don’t go. I don’t want to be alone.”
There wasn’t even a pause. “Yeah,” he said. “I’m not going anywhere.”
He adjusted the blanket around us and settled deeper into the mattress, pulling me fully against him. Our legs tangled. His hand stayed at my waist like it belonged there. Like it had always belonged there.
My heart was still beating fast. But it wasn’t panic anymore. It was awareness. Of how easily he fit. Of how long we’d known each other. Of the fact that even when I’d pushed him away years ago, he’d never actually stopped standing close enough to catch me if I fell.
His arm tightened slightly around me. The steady rhythm of his breathing brushed warm against my hair, anchoring me in a way I hadn’t realized I needed.
I’d spent so long trying to prove that I could stand on my own that I forgot how good it felt when someone stood with me. Safety isn’t always walls and locks. Sometimes it’s the quiet certainty that if you fall apart in the middle of the night, someone will climb through a window without asking why. That thought wrapped around me, and for the first time in days, my body wasn’t braced for impact. I wasn’t waiting for the next sound, the next creak, the next thing to go wrong.
I felt safe. I fell asleep with his breath warm against my hair and his arm locked around me.
I woke slowly, body heavy and secure, wrapped in something solid that refused to let go.
For a heartbeat, I didn’t understand why I couldn’t move my left arm, why there was a broad, warm chest pressed to my back, and a heavy leg hooked over both of mine.
Then memory returned in soft fragments.
Window. His voice.Breathe with me.
I kept my eyes closed a second longer, savoring the feel of it before reality intruded. Levi’s arm was draped firmly around my waist, palm spread wide against my bare stomach where my tank top had ridden up in the night. His skin was hot against mine. One of his legs was thrown over both of mine, heavy, possessive in sleep. His breath drifted, slow and warm, across the nape of my neck.
He was still asleep. I could tell by the deep, even rhythm of his chest against my back, the tiny twitch of his fingers against my skin, like he was dreaming but still holding on.
We’d shared space before—couch crashes, truck cabs, that ridiculous hammock pile-up at twelve. This was nothing like that.
I was in a thin white tank top and tiny sleep shorts that barely covered anything. He was in nothing but black boxer briefs. The realization hit us both at once when I shifted slightly, and hisarm tightened instinctively. My bare thigh brushed the bare skin of his. Heat flared low in my belly.
I turned my face toward him just enough.
His eyes opened—clear blue, sleepy but instantly sharp. They moved over my face like he was checking for damage, making sure I was still okay.
Then his gaze slowly dropped, taking in the thin strap that had slipped off my shoulder, the way my tank clung to my skin, the expanse of my stomach under his palm.
