The room was bathed in the familiar low light from the TV, a soft hum in the background. Ender sat beside me, just as he had every night, but tonight felt… different. His hand rested on mine, heavier than usual, and instead of the usual coolness, there was warmth. I blinked, confused for a moment, but the feeling was so comforting, so natural, that I didn’t question it.

I looked at him, and for a second, something in his eyes shifted. There was a spark of something—affection? Want? I wasn’t sure. His hand moved up to brush my cheek, and my heart quickened. But wasn’t I just watching a show? The thought flickered and then disappeared as he leaned closer, his breath warm against my skin. The space between us dissolved, and when his lips met mine, I melted into him. I kissed him back, my heart pounding, but not with fear—there was something else now, something good.

His hands slid to my waist, pulling me closer, and I followed willingly, sinking into his embrace. I could feel the steady beat of his heart—or was it mine? My mind spun in that strange, weightless way it did when things didn’t quite add up, but I couldn’t bring myself to care. His touch was confident, safe. I felt wanted. I wanted him back.

It didn’t make sense, did it? I wasn’t afraid—how could I not be afraid? There was a nagging thought, a small voice trying to tell me this wasn’t real, but I ignored it. His touch, his lips, the warmth of his body—it felt too good, too real to question.

When I pulled back to catch my breath, my gaze locked onto his. His lips curled in a faint, affectionate smile, and there it was again—that need, that want, mirrored in his eyes. I blinked, trying to clear the fog from my mind. Ender wasn’t supposed to feel like this, was he? But here, in this moment, it felt like he did. His hand tightened gently around mine, grounding me, and yet something wasn’t right.

I opened my mouth to say something, to ask him, but the words didn’t come. Instead, I leaned in again, craving the safety of his touch, the way he made everything feel like it was okay. The doubt faded, replaced by the soft haze of contentment. Everything was perfect, wasn’t it?

But a flicker of confusion remained, whispering at the edges of my mind. I shifted, the weight of the moment pressing down in a way that felt both comforting and wrong. A sudden realization rippled through me—this wasn’t real. I was dreaming.

Yet even as that thought solidified, I didn’t want to pull away. His hands, his lips, the way he held me—it was everything I wanted but wasn’t sure I could ever have. Even knowing it was a dream, I let myself linger in the safety of his arms for just a moment longer.

I woke with a jolt, my body warm, my breath shallow. For a moment, I stayed still, blinking at the ceiling, trying to shake the haze of sleep. The dream lingered, vivid and disorienting. The memory of Ender’s touch still danced along my skin, too real to dismiss. I swallowed, willing my heart to slow, but the weight of his hands, his warmth, lingered.

I glanced at the clock. Morning light filtered through the blinds, soft and quiet. I sat up slowly, rubbing my eyes, the remnants of the dream still clinging like fog. My heart twisted, half-embarrassed, half… something else.

I needed to shake this off.

Footsteps echoed faintly from the kitchen, and I realized Ender was already awake—or, well, powered up. I heard the familiar sounds of him moving around, maybe preparing breakfast, as usual. The image of his face from the dream flashed in my mind—too close, too intense—and I felt my cheeks heat up.

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I pushed myself out of bed, hoping a splash of cold water might help clear my mind. But no amount of water would wash away the way my heart clenched when I remembered his lips brushing mine, the certainty in his movements, the confidence that I hadn’t even known he could have.

It was just a dream, I reminded myself as I stared at my reflection. Just a dream. He’s still Ender.

I took a deep breath, trying to calm the flutter in my chest. But as I stepped into the kitchen, my resolve faltered. There he was, standing by the stove, moving with that same calm efficiency, as if nothing had changed. As if he hadn’t just been in my dreams, making me feel things I wasn’t ready to deal with.

“Good morning, Seren,” he said, not turning around as he plated something—eggs, maybe?

“Morning,” I muttered, my voice coming out more awkward than I’d intended.

He turned, holding a plate in his hands, and tilted his head as he looked at me. “You seem… unsettled.”

Crap. I could feel the flush creeping up my neck, and I tried to force a smile. “I’m fine. Just… didn’t sleep well, I guess.”

He blinked, clearly analyzing my expression. “Your sleep pattern was irregular. Did you experience discomfort?”

Discomfort? That was one word for it. I cleared my throat, trying to act normal. “No, nothing like that. Just… weird dreams, I guess.”

Ender handed me the plate, his eyes still studying me. “Would you like to discuss the dream? Processing strange dreams can sometimes alleviate any lingering confusion.”

I nearly choked. “No! No, it’s fine. Just a dream.” Definitely not discussing that one.

His head tilted slightly again, the gesture familiar and frustratingly endearing. “You’re certain? Your elevated pulse suggests some lingering emotional impact.”

Great. Of course, he noticed. I forced a laugh, waving it off as I took a seat at the table. “I’m sure. Just… one of those dreams that sticks with you for no reason.”

Ender didn’t press further, though his eyes lingered on me for a moment longer before he turned back to the stove. “Understood. I’ve prepared breakfast, as usual. If there is anything else you need, feel free to ask.”

I nodded, picking up my fork and staring at the food in front of me. It’s just a dream, Seren, I reminded myself. But no matter how many times I repeated it, the memory of his touch, of his closeness, refused to fade. And Ender—oblivious, calm, predictable Ender—was completely unaware of the chaos spinning inside my head.

I stabbed at the eggs with my fork, trying to act casual, but my mind was still racing. My hand fumbled slightly, and I knocked over the glass of water beside me.

Ender moved before I could even react, catching the glass mid-fall, his reflexes as sharp as ever. “You appear to be more distracted than usual.”

I grimaced, brushing my hair back and muttering, “Yeah, just clumsy today.”

His eyes lingered on me, thoughtful but neutral. “Is there something specific occupying your thoughts?”

“No, I’m fine,” I insisted, a little too quickly.

He handed me a napkin to clean up the water, his gaze still on me, as if analyzing my every move. I tried to ignore the growing warmth in my chest—both from the memory of the dream and from the fact that he was standing so close, so calm and composed.

I needed air. I needed space.

Without thinking, I stood up abruptly. “I think I’m going to head to campus today.”

Ender blinked, slightly taken aback by my sudden decision. “That wasn’t part of our initial plan for the day. Are you sure you want to go?”

I nodded, already grabbing my bag, my movements awkward and rushed. “Yeah, I just need to get out for a bit. Clear my head.”

His head tilted again, the subtle concern evident in the way he stepped closer. “Would you like me to accompany you?”

“No!” I blurted out, my heart racing. I softened my tone quickly. “I mean, no. It’s fine. I can go alone.”

For a second, he seemed to hesitate, his gaze scanning my face. “Understood. If you need anything, you know how to contact me.”

I gave him a weak smile, thankful that he didn’t press further, and practically fled the apartment, my mind still spinning. The cool morning air hit my face as soon as I stepped outside, and I let out a long breath.

It was just a dream, but I couldn’t deny the way it had rattled me. As I made my way toward campus, I tried to shake off the feelings, hoping the distance would help me find clarity.

But even with the city around me, bustling and alive, I couldn’t escape the image of Ender—the way he’d looked at me, the way he’d touched me in that dream. And the most unsettling part? A tiny part of me hadn’t wanted to escape.