Astrophile (Paul Lahote)

fifty nine

࿔*:･fifty nine ࿔*:･
°. *࿐ ༻༺ ࿐°. *

There were exactly three things Carter had decided were worth waking up early for:
One — the smell of fresh coffee.
Two — Paul Lahote, shirtless and smirking.
Three — the chaos of supernatural emergencies.
Today had all three. Sort of.

The phone had started ringing before the sun even bothered to peek through the curtains. Carter groaned into the pillow, half-tempted to pretend she didn’t hear it. She and Paul had just moved into the cabin—their cabin—and she’d planned on soaking in the domestic bliss for at least twenty-four hours before reality came knocking. Or ringing.

She blindly kicked her leg out across the bed, grinning when her foot smacked solid muscle.

Paul groaned. “You couldn’t just say ‘good morning,’ huh?”

“Phone,” she mumbled. “It’s your turn.”

“Since when do we take turns answering the phone?”

“Since I’m not moving.”

He grumbled all the way into the kitchen, and Carter let her eyes drift shut again, a lazy smile on her lips. The scent of pine, the warmth of shared blankets, and the echo of Paul’s bare feet padding across their creaky floorboards—it was all new, but it felt like home.

When he came back a few minutes later, his footsteps slower, heavier, she cracked one eye open.

Paul didn’t say anything at first. Just slid back under the covers and pulled her into his chest. She went willingly, nuzzling into his warmth, her hand tracing slow circles along his ribs.

“Who was it?” she asked.

“Edward,” he said quietly. “Bella’s awake.”

Carter didn’t respond at first. Just breathed in the moment. The softness. The safety. The peace.

Then she sighed. “Of course she is.”

Paul’s fingers traced idle patterns across her back, as she cuddled closer, “She okay?” Carter asked, voice muffled against his chest.

He nodded, just once. “Yeah. Edward said she was asking for him. Hungry, mostly. He’ll help her feed first.”

There was a pause. Not a tense one, just a heavy one. A shift. Like something had cracked through the stillness of the morning.

Carter didn’t move. “Did you say we’d come?”

“I told him you’d call when you were ready,” Paul replied quietly. 

Her chest rose and fell with a slow breath. She appreciated that—more than she’d admit out loud. That even now, Paul didn’t speak for her. He knew the weight Bella held in her world. Knew that some things had to be hers alone to carry. Even though the girl didn't make the most coherent of choices most of the time, Carter considered her a dear friend.

“Thanks,” she murmured.

They stayed tangled together for a while longer, the kind of silence that didn’t need to be filled. The only sounds were the gentle chirping outside and the slow rhythm of their breathing.

When the light creeping through the curtains turned gold, Carter finally rolled away with a groan, “If I don't get up now, I won't get up for the entire day,” she mumbled. 

“Y’know, I’m not mad about that idea,” Paul said, lacing his fingers behind his head as he looked at his imprint.

Paul had sat up in bed, leaning against the headboard. The lower half of his body was covered with the blanket.