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I lie down beside her, careful not to crowd, just close enough that I can feel the heat of her under the covers.

“Are you okay?” she asks softly, like maybe I’m the one breaking this time.

I shake my head a little. “No. But I’m closer than I was an hour ago.”

She turns toward me, our faces a breath apart now. Her hand slips from mine and lands on my chest, her fingers splayed over my heart like she’s testing to make sure it’s still beating.

It is.

Loudly.

For her.

“They’re gonna be okay,” she says into the quiet, her voice like a threadbare lullaby. “I know they will be.”

“I believe you.”

She exhales, then tucks herself into the curve of my body like she’s done it a hundred times, like we haven’t been stumbling our way through the wreckage of what we used to be.

I wrap my arm around her waist and pull her close, her back pressed to my front, my face tucked into the space between her neck and shoulder. Her skin is soft and sleep-warm, and the sound she makes when I hold her tighter is the kind of sound that lodges in your soul and refuses to leave.

Neither of us says another word.

Because we don’t have to.

She’s here. I’m here.

And for the first time since everything fell apart…we’re not alone in the dark.

When I wake up, it takes me a second to remember where I am.

Then I feel her.

Mya’s still curled into me, her legs tangled with mine, her hair a dark halo on the pillow we’re sharing. She’s warm and soft and breathing steady, like the storm that’s been living under her skin finally settled for the night.

I stay still.

Not just because I don’t want to wake her, but because I need this. A moment where everything’s simple. Her body against mine. Her hand still resting over my heart like it belongs there.

Outside the window, the sun is trying to sneak in through the slats in the blinds, turning the room pale gold. The world feels hushed. Suspended.

Then she shifts, her lashes fluttering against my collarbone. A breath later, her voice comes out, sleep-rough and small.

“You stayed.”

I brush her hair back from her face. “You asked me to.”

She hums, low and content. “I didn’t think I’d sleep. But I did.”

“Yeah. You passed out with your hand on my ribs. I didn’t dare move.”

Her lips quirk. “I guess you were my emotional support space heater.”

“I’ve been called worse.”

We stay like that for a while, not rushing it. There’s something about the quiet that feels…earned. Like after everything we’ve been through, we deserve this little slice of peace.

But eventually, she sighs and shifts to sit up. “We should go.”