𝐑𝐄𝐍𝐄𝐆𝐀𝐃𝐄𝐒 ~| 𝘓𝘢𝘯𝘥𝘰 𝘕𝘰𝘳𝘳𝘪𝘴

Love Looks Pretty On You

~'~

𝐋𝐨𝐯𝐞 𝐥𝐨𝐨𝐤𝐬 𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐭𝐭𝐲 𝐨𝐧 𝐲𝐨𝐮, 𝐥𝐨𝐨𝐤 𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐭𝐭𝐲 𝐨𝐧 𝐦𝐞

𝐈𝐟 𝐇𝐞𝐚𝐯𝐞𝐧'𝐬 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐬, 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭'𝐬 𝐰𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐰𝐞'𝐥𝐥 𝐛𝐞

𝐋𝐨𝐯𝐞 𝐥𝐨𝐨𝐤𝐬 𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐭𝐭𝐲 𝐨𝐧 𝐲𝐨𝐮, 𝐦𝐲 𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐭𝐭𝐲 𝐛𝐚𝐛𝐲

𝐈 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞 𝐡𝐨𝐰 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞 𝐦𝐞 𝐬𝐨 𝐝𝐞𝐥𝐢𝐜𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐥𝐲

‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿

Cassi

There's a certain kind of magic to waking up in a blanket fort.

A slow, hazy kind of dream where everything is soft, warm, and golden. Where reality hasn't quite settled yet, and for a few blissful moments, you exist in that perfect in-between—half-asleep, half-awake, completely at peace.

That was where I was now. Floating in that warm, sleepy space where my body felt too heavy to move, but my mind wandered anyway.

I should probably get up.

Maybe.

Eventually.

But not yet.

Because this, this cocoon of blankets and pillows—was the most comfortable I had ever been in my entire life. I questioned why people even bothered with real beds at all.

I sighed, stretching just enough to feel the satisfying ache in my limbs before burrowing deeper into the blankets. The air was still warm from where Lando was, the scent of him lingering in the fabric—something familiar, something I had no name for but recognized instantly.

My lips curved into a sleepy smile as I reached out, rolling onto my side to grab him—

But my hand met nothing but empty sheets.

I frowned, eyes still mostly closed as I patted the space next to me. Cold. Well—lukewarm. Not freshly abandoned, but long enough that the warmth had started to fade.

I pried one eye open, groggy and confused.

Where was he?

My sleep-addled brain tried to put the pieces together, but all it managed was a string of increasingly dramatic thoughts, starting with maybe he went to get food and ending somewhere around perhaps he's been kidnapped and I must embark on a life-altering quest to rescue him.

I sighed again, this time significantly more mournful. Because I had been so comfortable. And now I was just... awake. And alone.

Which was, frankly, unacceptable.

I flopped onto my back. The blankets were still tangled around my legs, evidence of a night spent moving in my sleep, and I felt just the tiniest bit ridiculous, sprawled out like some kind of abandoned Victorian heroine, mourning the absence of my idiot of a bed-warmer.

And he was an idiot. A muppet, as I had so eloquently dubbed him.

Because who just leaves in the morning when they could be cuddling? Who willingly gets up instead of staying in this literal paradise of pillows and warmth and me?