Good Morning

Fifteenth Morning

He wakes slowly, and pulls her closer to him. As her warmth meets his, he doesn't hesitate to roll over, pulling her into a tighter embrace where he stays, burying his nose in her hair and inhaling deeply.

It smells of her, and nothing else. It's a scent that lingers through the night and makes him want to stay right there until she wakes up and realizes what she's done. His fingers find her hip, and he pulls her in a little closer.

She stirs a little, but her breath is slow, and his heart has already begun to pound wildly at the feel of her. It's a strange feeling, knowing what he knows, and wanting to tell her everything. Not to say that he hasn't told anyone else everything, but he's never had someone who could relate to it on such a personal level. And as much as he hates admitting it, he wants it. He wants to share her with the people in his life, but he can't seem to let her go.

If he had any sense at all, he would wake her up now. But he can't bring himself to do it. He needs her, and he doesn't want to move yet. It's strange because he's never felt like this before, and the thought of moving from her bed is terrifying in its own right. He can see the shadows in the corners of the room, the darkness creeping in the cracks of the door, and the worry that might follow if he does so.

But then again, he can also see her peaceful expression, the way her lashes flutter in her sleep, and the way her lips are slightly parted. His chest feels tight, and he fights the urge to pinch the bridge of his nose. This is getting out of control.

He can feel her pull away from him, the slight shift and she tries to roll over, but he holds her tightly against his chest.

"I couldn't breathe," she mumbles into his shirt.

He swallows thickly.

"You didn't want me to."

Her fingers curl into his skin, and he lets out a groan.

"I'm sorry," she whispers into his shoulder.

He brings his hand up and curls it around hers, squeezing her hand.

"Don't be," he tells her, kissing the top of her head.

"I'm used to it, I guess," she says quietly.

His brows furrow together, but he doesn't push. Her voice is soft, and her movements are slow and careful. She's still half asleep, and she's not even aware of what she's saying.

"This is different, Nya," he says softly.

"So am I, and I've never had a reason to be so afraid."

He exhales, his grip loosening in her hand. She's fighting not to wake fully, and he can hardly blame her. It's different for him, and he isn't sure why. He knows what she's going through. It's something he feels all the time, but she doesn't know. She doesn't understand what she means to him, what she represents to him.

He knows that she won't be able to get away from him, ever, but that doesn't mean he'd ever ask her to.

"How long have you been awake?" she asks.

"Not very," he replies.

She lets out a laugh against his chest before shifting a little more. Her head tilts, and she looks up at him with eyes half closed.

"I think we're going to need an extra blanket."

She's laughing at the look of confusion on his face. He frowns at her, and then at the heat radiating off of him.

"Is it that obvious?"

She shrugs. "Maybe."

"Well, you're hot," she says with a wink.

He rolls onto his back and stares at the ceiling, all thoughts of sleep leaving him.

"Do you want me to get you one?"

He shakes his head quickly, but he knows that he's lying. It's a lie that he knows he'll regret later. All he can think of is going back to the bed, pulling her in, and staying there for the rest of the night. There will be regrets when he wakes up in the morning, though. They both would.

"No, it's fine. I probably just need to sweat it out tonight. I'll be alright tomorrow."

"Are you sure?"

He nods, and smiles at her.

"Yeah, I'm sure. I'll be better once I get some air."

"All right," she says.

He lays there watching her as she rests her head against the pillow, and he's thankful that she's asleep. He thinks of the way the light shines through her hair, and the way it frames her face. The way her eyes crinkle when she laughs. The way her mouth curves into a smile whenever she's looking at him. He remembers the first time they met, and how he knew that she was special. How he fell in love with her at first sight.

He thinks of all these things, and he wishes that he could bottle up everything that makes her beautiful so that he could take it with him wherever he goes. He's not even sure that she would understand. But he still feels the need to try.