Aeris
Warmth.
That was the first thing I felt when I woke up. Not the kind that came from the fireplace or the blanket tucked up to my shoulders.
It was heavier.
Stronger.
Alive.
A heartbeat thudded against my back.
Arms — solid and secure — wrapped around me. One draped across my ribs, the other curled under my head like a pillow. I could feel the rise and fall of his chest behind me. Slow. Even. Asleep.
Ronan.
It all came back in fragments.
The hallway. His voice. The quiet walk. Asking him to stay.
Then… the dream.
The basement again. His breath on my neck. The door that never opened.
And then —
Arms.
Not my uncle's.
Ronan's.
Strong and steady, like walls around a storm.
I hadn't even realized I'd cried in my sleep until I felt the sticky trail on my cheek, dried and forgotten.
I didn't move.
Not at first.
Because the strangest thing was — I didn't want to.
His grip wasn't tight. Not possessive. Just protective.
I'd never been held like this.
Not without fear shadowing it.
And now… the only thing I felt was safe.
His breath shifted.
He stirred, just a little — a sleepy sound in his throat as he blinked awake behind me.
I tensed.
And so did he.
But he didn't pull away.
Didn't jolt or apologize or throw up some wall of ice like he usually did.
His voice came, low and rough with sleep. "Nightmare?"
I nodded. Barely.
His arm tightened, just enough for me to feel it.
"I tried to wake you. You were crying. Then you said my name, and I—" he paused, breath catching just slightly—"I couldn't just sit there."
I felt my pulse flutter.
"You didn't have to stay," I whispered.
"I wanted to."
Silence bloomed between us again, but it wasn't awkward. It was full — like the air had weight and meaning and possibility.
My fingers, without thinking, brushed against his forearm where it rested on my stomach. Bare skin. Warm and real.
He didn't flinch.
Neither did I.
I finally rolled slightly in his arms, just enough to look at him.
His face was close.
Too close.
His eyes were still heavy with sleep, the sharp lines of him softened by the morning light seeping in through the curtains. His hair was a little messy, jaw shadowed, lips parted slightly like he wasn't sure what to say next.
Neither was I.
But I didn't need to.
Because everything was already there.
Between us.
Unspoken.
Seen.
The door creaked.
We both froze.
Silas stood in the hallway, shirt half-buttoned, toast in one hand, eyebrow arched so high it might've hit the ceiling.
"Well, shit," he said, smirking. "Looks like somebody skipped the slow burn."
Ronan groaned and dropped his forehead against my shoulder.
I laughed — a real one.
It hurt my ribs.
But it felt good anyway.