Reliant ~ [John Soap MacTavish]

LXII. Meant To Be

The first thing I feel is the weight of his arm across my waist, a solid grip that pulls me into the warmth of his body. I blink slowly, the haze of sleep still lingering as I try to make sense of where I am.

I turn my head slightly and find Soap, still fast asleep beside me, his breathing steady and deep.

For a second, I just watch him, the way his chest rises and falls in time with the quiet room, the slight ruffle of his hair. He looks almost peaceful, and I find myself wishing I get to see him like this every day for the rest of my life.

Finally, I shift a little, trying to slip out from under his arm without waking him, but as soon as I move, his grip tightens, pulling me back into the warmth of the bed.

"No, stay," he mutters, his voice thick with sleep, his hand moving to tug me closer.

I can't help but smile. "I've got to get up," I whisper, trying to shift again, but he only pulls me closer still.

"Five more minutes," he grumbles, his voice low and drowsy, as if he can't quite remember why he's supposed to let go. "Just five minutes, yeah?"

The warmth of his body is hard to resist, so I settle back against him, giving in for just a moment longer. My fingers thread through his hair as I watch him, taking in the quiet steadiness of his breath, the way his face softens in sleep again.

After a few minutes, I shift slightly, knowing I can't stay here forever. "Come on," I whisper, trying to pull away. "I've got to get up."

He groans softly, his grip tightening around me, unwilling to let go. "Please," he mumbles, his voice thick with sleep.

I smile to myself, amused by how easily he wants to keep me there. "I'll make you breakfast," I say, my voice light with teasing. "You can stay in bed, but I'm getting up."

His arms tighten around me in response, as if that'll stop me from leaving. "You don't have to do that," he murmurs, his face turning toward me, still half-asleep.

I laugh quietly, brushing a short lock of hair off his forehead. "I want to," I say.

He gives me a lazy smile, his eyes still heavy with sleep. "I guess I can't argue with that." His grip loosens just enough to let me move.

I slide out of bed, glancing back at him one last time before I head to the kitchen, a smile tugging at the corner of my lips. A little part of me doesn't mind the quiet tug-of-war, though.

Part of me enjoys these quiet mornings—just him and me, no rush, no pressure. But another part still finds it unfamiliar. I can count on one hand the number of days I've taken off work, so this still feels a little out of place.

I hum softly to myself as I move around the kitchen, flipping some eggs just right, the smell of them starting to fill the air.

But just as I finish plating, I hear the soft shuffle of footsteps behind me. I turn, expecting to see him still dragging himself out of bed, but instead, he's leaning against the doorframe in nothing but his boxers. His eyes are still heavy with sleep, his hair messy, but the way he stands there with that half-smile on his lips makes my stomach flutter.

"You didn't have to do all this," he says, his voice low and rough with sleep.

I look at the plate, then back at him. "I told you I wanted to," I say simply, feeling a warmth spread through me at the way he's looking at me.

He steps closer, his gaze flicking from the food back to me. "You're the best," he murmurs, his smile turning teasing. "I might never get out of bed if I knew you were going to spoil me like this every time."