It will be me before it's you (And that's okay)

Chapter 23

The first thing Clarke noticed when she woke was warmth.

Sunlight poured through the open doors of the villa, stretching across the bed in golden streaks. The air smelled like salt and jasmine, thick with the remnants of last night. Lexa's whispers, the warmth of her breath, the softness of her skin still lingering on Clarke's own. The waves below crashed gently against the stilts of the villa, their slow, rhythmic hum blending with the steady rise and fall of Lexa's breathing beside her.

Clarke didn't move.

She didn't want to. She just let herself be there, with Lexa, with this.

Their bodies were still tangled beneath the sheets, warm and comfortable, legs loosely intertwined. Clarke could feel the soft weight of Lexa beside her, the smooth expanse of skin beneath her fingertips. She had spent all night memorizing this. The way Lexa's body fit against her own, the quiet sighs she made, the way her breath stuttered when Clarke kissed the places she no longer felt.

She had been slow. Careful. Not because of hesitation, not because of Lexa's injuries, but because Clarke had wanted her to feel it, every single moment of it.

She had taken her time, and Lexa had let her.

She had helped Lexa out of her clothes with gentle hands, pressing soft kisses to her collarbone, her shoulders, the delicate curve of her hip. Had whispered gentle reassurances against her skin, telling her how much she wanted this, how beautiful she was, how much she wanted her.

And Lexa listened to her every word.

She had let Clarke map every inch of her skin, let her trace soft kisses across the length of her collarbone, let her hold her in ways Clarke knew she hadn't let anyone before. And when Clarke had pulled her into her arms, Lexa had melted into her, had let herself be held, had let herself be loved.

Clarke had never felt anything like it.

Now, in the golden haze of morning, she could still feel it—the weight of last night, the warmth of Lexa against her, the certainty that this had been something more. She took it all in.

The way the golden light traced over Lexa's skin. The way her hair spilled across the pillow, strands curling slightly from the humidity. The way her fingers, the only part of her body she could move freely, rested loosely on the edge of the sheet, twitching slightly as she stirred.

Clarke sighed, stretching carefully, unwilling to disrupt the quiet comfort between them. She let her hand skim down the length of Lexa's arm, slow and lazy, trailing along her forearm before reaching her fingers, brushing over them lightly.

She pressed a slow kiss to Lexa's bare shoulder, her lips lingering against warm skin. "God, I haven't slept like that in years," she murmured, voice thick with sleep.

Lexa inhaled softly beside her, her breathing shifting slightly. "I can tell," she murmured, voice warm with amusement. "You snored."

Clarke scoffed, lifting her head. "I do not snore."

Lexa's lips twitched. "You do."

Clarke huffed. "Well, you breathe very dramatically in your sleep. Like you're trying to unlock the secrets of the universe."

Lexa hummed, "Maybe I was."

Clarke shook her head, smiling. "God, you're impossible."

Lexa's expression softened. "You love it."

Clarke's breath caught slightly at the words, something warm unfurling deep in her chest.

She did.

She loved this. She loved the lazy warmth of morning, loved not feeling like she had to reach for Lexa because, for once, she was already there.