Morning light slipped through the sheer curtains, pale and gentle against the covers.
Jean stirred first with a slow blink of her eyes, her mind still wrapped in the fog of sleep. Her body felt heavy, but in a warm, comforting way, the bone deep exhaustion was no longer there that usually haunted her mornings.
Then she noticed it.
A warmth beside her.
Jean's breath caught. Slowly, she turned her head on the pillow.
Logan.
He was lying there, still half asleep, his usually stern face softened by the weight of dreams. One arm lay loosely between them, palm up… as if it had been waiting for hers all night.
Jean's chest tightened, something fragile and unfamiliar blooming just beneath her ribs. He stayed, she realized. He could've left… but he didn't.
Carefully, she propped herself on an elbow, studying him.
