Hannah POV:
I didn't wake up like I usually did — with a jolt, or to the sound of my own breath catching mid-nightmare. There was no racing heart, no cold sweat clinging to my skin.
Just warmth.
For the first time in what felt like forever, I had truly slept — not drifted, not dozed in exhaustion, but slept. Deep and whole. Like my body had finally let go of something heavy. Like it had finally found safety.
I blinked slowly into the dim light of early morning, the fire nothing more than a faint glow of embers now. My living room was quiet, still wrapped in the shadows of dawn. The blanket around me had shifted in the night, and when I turned slightly, I felt it —
Him.
Sebastian's arm was around me, solid and warm, his chest pressed against my back. One of his hands rested lightly at my waist, fingers curled gently like he never wanted to let go. His legs were tangled with mine, breath steady and even near my ear.
My heart fluttered.
Last night came back in fragments. His knock at the door. The way he looked at me like I was something he'd lost and just barely gotten back. His voice when he told me he still loved me. The pull of his hands on my hips. The weight of his mouth on mine. The quiet desperation in every touch.
I closed my eyes, letting it all wash over me — the emotion, the ache, the tenderness that bled into something deeper. The way it felt to be with him — really be with him.
And that was when it hit me.
It hadn't just been about comfort or forgiveness. It had been something more. Something raw and vulnerable and real. Last night, I gave myself to him in a way I never had with anyone. I hadn't meant for it to happen that way — not exactly — but there was no part of me that regretted it.
It wasn't perfect. It wasn't planned. But it was ours.
And for the first time, I didn't feel broken for having let someone that close. I felt whole.
Sebastian stirred behind me, his hand shifting to rest a little tighter around my waist. I could feel the rise of his chest as he woke slowly. For a moment, neither of us said anything.
"Hey," he whispered finally, voice still thick with sleep.
I turned over to face him. His hair was a mess, falling into his eyes, but he looked at me like I was something fragile and precious. Like I mattered.
"Hey," I said back, my voice soft.
We stared at each other for a long time, and he reached up, brushing a thumb along my cheekbone.
"You slept," he said, like he couldn't quite believe it. "Really slept."
"I did," I whispered, almost in awe. "Because you were here."
Something flickered in his expression. Relief. Gratitude. A kind of ache I couldn't name.
My cheeks flushed, and I looked down between us, the moment stretching quietly.
"Last night..." I began.
He nodded once, gently. "I know."
And he did. He didn't rush to fill the silence. He didn't need to. He just pulled me closer again, resting his forehead against mine.
We stayed like that, our legs tangled, the world still quiet and slow. There was still so much we hadn't said, so much we would have to work through — but the fear I'd been carrying for months, the guilt, the shame... it didn't feel so suffocating anymore.
I wasn't alone.
And I wasn't lost.
Whatever had happened to me down in the dark, whatever pieces of myself I left behind, something in me had started to return — not because Sebastian fixed me, but because being near him reminded me that I could heal.
That I was still worth holding on to.
We didn't have all the answers yet. We might not for a long time.
But I was here.
And so was he.
And for now, that was enough.
Sebastian POV:
Her hair was the first thing I saw when I opened my eyes. A mess of waves draped over the pillow, dark against the faint glow of morning that filtered through the window. She was curled in close, warm, breathing slow.
Still here.
A part of me expected to wake up alone. Like last night might've been something I made up — some cruel trick my brain played on me to pretend I hadn't missed her this much. But she was here. And for the first time in almost a year, I didn't wake up to the ache of her absence.
I shifted carefully, not wanting to break the moment. My hand found the curve of her waist. She stirred slightly but didn't move away. That tiny confirmation — that she felt safe enough to stay — nearly undid me.
I hadn't expected to end up here. Not like this. I just needed to see her one more time. Make sure she was really okay. That she was still her. I hadn't planned on saying I love you. I sure as hell hadn't planned on staying the night.
And yet... I didn't regret a second of it.
Last night was... real. Honest. Everything we'd been avoiding laid bare in the firelight, in her trembling voice, in the way she looked at me like she wasn't sure she deserved to be held.
She did.
I'd hold her forever if it meant keeping the nightmares away.
My eyes wandered across her face. She looked so peaceful in sleep, so different from the haunted girl who'd shown up at the Moonlight Jellies with tears in her eyes and years of weight on her shoulders.
But this — this softness in her — it was new. Or maybe it had just been buried for a long time. And maybe, just maybe, she felt safe here too. With me.
My chest tightened. I didn't take what happened lightly. She gave me something last night — something more than just her body. She let me in. In a way no one ever had before.
I knew she hadn't done that before — not with anyone. The way she'd clung to me, the unspoken tension in her breath, the look in her eyes that said I trust you... it was more than sex.
It was surrender. It was love. It was pain stitched into closeness.
I didn't know what came next. I didn't know if she'd stay, or if she'd bolt again when the panic came back. But I knew this:
I'd never forget the way she looked at me last night. The way she said my name. The way she shattered and pulled me into the pieces with her.
I pulled the blanket higher around her shoulders, careful not to wake her. She needed this. Sleep, rest, silence that didn't feel threatening. She'd been at war with herself for too long.
I laid back and stared up at the ceiling for a while, listening to the soft rhythm of her breathing. My fingers found hers beneath the blanket and threaded them together gently.
I wasn't stupid. I knew this wasn't over — that we had conversations ahead of us that wouldn't be easy. I knew there were still cracks in both of us we hadn't even acknowledged. But I also knew what I felt.
I loved her.
Not in some teenage, crush-on-the-cool-girl kind of way. Not even the version of love that's born out of comfort and shared memories. I loved her despite the hurt. Because of her strength. Even when she pushed me away. Even when she disappeared.
I loved her enough to stay.
And for the first time in a long time, I thought maybe she might let me.
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