Elena

I wake slowly, surrounded by warmth, the steady rhythm of Rafe’s breathing beside me pulling me gently into consciousness. For a moment, I don’t fully register where I am—just that I feel comfortable, safer and warmer than I’ve been in days. I shift slightly, and that’s when the awareness hits me: Rafe is right there, his arm wrapped around me, his chest rising and falling beneath my cheek.

My hand rests flat against his stomach, feeling each breath as it expands and contracts under my palm. His arm drapes loosely over my waist, holding me close. And then there’s the tangled mess of our legs—his thigh firmly wedged between mine, anchoring me against him, as if even in sleep, he couldn’t bear to let me go.

My heart skips a beat as the full reality of our position sinks in. I’m practically wrapped around him, my body molded to his, and it feels so… natural. Like we’ve always slept this way.

I hold my breath, wondering if he’s awake. I can’t see his face from where I’m nestled against his chest, but I can hear the steady rhythm of his breathing. When I shift slightly, his arm tightens almost reflexively around my waist, as if instinctively pulling me closer. My chest flutters, the quiet intimacy of the moment both thrilling and unsettling.

I think about pulling away, about untangling myself before he realizes just how wrapped up in him I am. But something inside me resists the idea. The thought of leaving the warmth of his arms, of breaking this quiet, unspoken closeness… it feels wrong.

And then, his voice breaks the silence, low and gravelly, still rough with sleep.

“You awake?” he murmurs, his breath stirring the hair at my temple.

I nod slightly, my voice caught in my throat before I manage a soft, “Yeah.”

There’s a pause, and I feel his hand shift a little on my waist, like he’s becoming aware of just how closely we’re tangled together but isn’t in any rush to change it. “Comfortable?” he asks, his tone carrying a hint of something I can’t quite name.

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I lift my head just enough to look up at him, finding his gaze already on me, his eyes half-lidded and softened with sleep. “I’m not cold, if that’s what you’re asking,” I reply, smiling a little.

The corner of his mouth twitches, almost a smile. “Good.”

For a moment, we just lie there, looking at each other, neither of us moving to pull away. The quiet, easy moments we’ve been sharing lately feel like they’re shifting into something more, something unspoken but powerful.

“You didn’t move,” I murmur, my fingers still resting lightly against his stomach. “Even though you were awake.”

He watches me, his gaze steady, a slight frown creasing his brow. “Didn’t want you to be cold if I got up.”

It’s such a simple explanation, but the warmth that spreads through me feels far from simple. I press my forehead gently against his chest, letting out a soft sigh. “Thanks.”

He doesn’t respond right away, but his hand tightens slightly on my waist, pulling me just a little closer, like he’s saying something he can’t put into words. We stay like that for a few more moments, our breaths syncing, neither of us in any hurry to let go.

Finally, though, I know it’s time to get moving. I let out a long breath and pull back, though not too far, reluctant to break the moment entirely. “We should get going.”

Rafe nods, though his hand doesn’t leave my waist immediately. His gaze lingers on mine, a softness in his expression that I’ve never seen before. “Yeah. Long day ahead.”

I manage a small nod, though my heart isn’t quite ready to face the cold world outside this cocoon we’ve built. There’s a part of me—a selfish, quiet part—that wants to stay here, wrapped up with him, holding onto this warmth a little longer.

But duty calls, and after one more lingering breath, I finally sit up, feeling the chill of the morning air rush in where his warmth had been. It’s like the world feels sharper, colder, now that we’re not pressed together.

Rafe rises quietly beside me, his movements smooth and deliberate. I can feel his gaze on me as I reach for my pack, though when I glance over, his face is unreadable, guarded as ever. But there’s something in his posture, in the way he stands—a hint of relaxation that wasn’t there before. It makes my chest tighten, realizing he’s just as affected as I am.

We pack up in silence, the only sounds the rustle of leaves in the breeze and the quiet clinking of our gear. I try to focus on the task at hand, to push away the lingering warmth of his arm, the memory of his heartbeat against my cheek. But even as I try to shake it off, I find myself glancing at him, catching his eye for a second longer than I should.

He meets my gaze, and something passes between us—something quiet, understanding, unspoken.

“Ready?” he asks, his voice low, calm, but with a softness I haven’t heard before.

I nod, though my mind is still tangled in that shared moment we left behind. “Yeah,” I reply, my voice barely above a whisper. “Let’s go.”