Mel
The soft morning light filtered through the slats of the blinds, dust motes dancing lazily in the golden beams. Mel's eyelashes fluttered open to a world muted and warm. The steady rise and fall of Jace's chest beneath her cheek was the first thing she noticed—rhythmic and grounding, like a heartbeat syncing with her own.
For a moment, she let herself linger there, wrapped in the quiet calm of the early hour, the faint scent of his cologne—woodsy with a hint of something spicy—floating just above her skin.
The apartment around her was surprisingly cozy. Soft shadows stretched across the cracked wooden floorboards, and the faint hum of the city beyond the window seeped in, a gentle reminder that the world was waking up outside this stillness.
She shifted carefully, not wanting to disturb him. Jace's dark hair was tousled, falling in loose waves that framed his face even in sleep. His strong jaw relaxed, lips parted slightly as if caught mid-breath. She could feel the faint pulse of warmth radiating from his skin, the roughness of his stubble brushing gently against her own.
Mel's fingers traced a lazy path along his collarbone, marveling at how real this felt—the closeness, the quiet intimacy. It was strange, unexpected, and yet somehow not frightening.
Her thoughts fluttered, untethered. Last night had been a tangle of raw emotion, hesitation, and a kind of desperate hope she hadn't dared to admit before.
But now, in the morning light, the uncertainty felt softer—like a fragile promise resting in the space between them.
She slowly slid off the bed, the floor cool beneath her bare feet, and wrapped the lightweight blanket tighter around her shoulders. The room was filled with little details she'd noticed only now—the worn edges of Jace's favorite chair, a stack of books dog-eared and well-read, a half-empty coffee cup left on the windowsill.
She wondered if he was still asleep or already awake and watching her.
Mel moved toward the small kitchen area, grateful for the quiet. The apartment smelled faintly of coffee and something freshly baked, as if Jace had made an effort to make this space feel like home—if only for one night.
She leaned against the counter, eyes closed for a moment, letting the warmth settle in her chest.
There was a fragile kind of peace here, the kind she wasn't sure she deserved.
Her fingers curled around the chipped mug left out for her, and as the first sip of bitter coffee touched her lips, Mel felt something shift—like maybe, just maybe, this messy, unpredictable thing between them could be worth holding onto.
---
Mel & Jace
Mel took another sip of the lukewarm coffee, staring out the window into the haze of morning light. The city felt quieter from here, distant—almost gentle. She wrapped the blanket tighter around her, her bare feet tucked under her as she perched on the small couch facing the window.
Behind her, she heard the faint rustle of sheets.
She didn't turn right away.
Jace's footsteps padded softly across the floor. She could feel the weight of his gaze before he said anything. And when he finally did, it was with that low, rough-edged voice that always seemed to find its way under her skin.
"You always this quiet in the morning?"
Mel glanced over her shoulder, her lips curling slightly. "Only when I wake up in someone else's bed."
Jace smirked, rubbing the sleep from his face. His hair was an unruly mess, his T-shirt wrinkled, hanging off his shoulder like it had fought a war in his sleep. Somehow, he still looked good—too good.
He leaned against the counter, mirroring her earlier stance. "You could've stayed. The bed's warmer than the couch."
"I didn't want to wake you."
"You didn't," he said, his voice softer now. "I just… noticed you weren't there."
There was something in the way he said it. Something honest.
Mel held his gaze for a moment, unsure of what to say. This wasn't just a morning-after. It wasn't awkward or filled with regret. But it wasn't simple either.
Jace pushed off the counter and walked over, crouching slightly in front of her. His hands rested on the edges of the blanket wrapped around her. "Hey," he said gently, eyes searching hers. "Are you okay?"
She nodded. "Yeah. Just… thinking."
"Dangerous pastime," he teased, but his tone stayed quiet.
Mel looked at him then—really looked. At the tiny crease between his brows, the hint of sleep still softening his features, the worry hiding just behind his calm.
"I didn't expect last night," she said quietly. "Any of it."
He nodded, thumb brushing her knuckles. "Me neither."
There was a pause. Not awkward—just thick with meaning.
"You didn't have to stop," she said before she could stop herself.
Jace's jaw tensed slightly. "I know."
Mel searched his face, but he was already looking down, his thumb moving in slow circles over her hand.
"I wanted to," he continued, voice hushed. "But not like that. Not… when everything's still unclear. You deserve more than that."
Her chest ached at how genuine he sounded.
"Thank you," she whispered.
He looked up again, his eyes darker now but still soft. "I meant what I said. I want you. But not just for a night. If we're doing this… I want it to mean something."
Mel reached up, cupping his cheek. "It already does."
The silence that followed wasn't heavy—it was full. Full of everything they hadn't said yet. Of everything still coming.
Jace leaned in, pressing a kiss to her forehead. "Then stay," he murmured. "At least for breakfast."
Mel smiled. "Only if you make pancakes."
He grinned. "Deal. But don't say I didn't warn you—I burn them exactly fifty percent of the time."
She laughed for the first time that morning, the sound light and unguarded.
Maybe it wasn't perfect.
Maybe it wasn't simple.
But it was something real.
And that was more than enough.
The smell of something sweet and slightly burnt wafted through the apartment.
Mel stood by the small kitchen island, arms folded, watching Jace battle the griddle with a determined scowl on his face. Batter clung stubbornly to the edges of the pan while smoke curled upward from a slightly overcooked pancake.
She stifled a laugh. "Fifty percent burn rate, huh?"
Jace gave her a look—mock offense, eyes full of mischief. "You doubted my stats?"
"I had hope."
He grinned and flipped the last pancake onto a plate with exaggerated flair. "Boom. Perfection. Ignore the one that looks like a sad tortilla."
She took a seat, tugging the blanket tighter around her shoulders. The apartment, while cozy, still carried a morning chill. But Jace's energy filled the space like sunlight—warm, distracting, dangerously addictive.
He placed a plate in front of her and slid into the seat beside her with two mugs of coffee. For a while, they ate in silence, a soft kind of peace lingering between them.
Mel stole glances at him when she thought he wasn't looking.
Everything about him felt easy this morning. Shirt slightly rumpled, laughter hiding at the corner of his mouth, a glint in his eyes that made her heart race if she looked too long.
And yet, behind it all, something loomed. Unspoken. Heavy.
Maybe it was the way he avoided talking about where he came from. Or how his apartment—though clean and minimal—lacked the kind of permanence someone might expect from a man with his name.
But Mel wasn't ready to break the moment. Not yet.
"You ever think about moving somewhere quieter?" she asked, twirling a piece of pancake with her fork.
Jace looked at her, curious. "Why?"
"I don't know. You just don't seem like the city type."
"I'm not," he admitted. "But it's easier to stay lost here. No one asks questions."
Mel frowned slightly. "Who would be asking questions?"
He paused, and for a flicker of a second, something shifted in his expression. A shadow, quickly buried.
"No one that matters," he said finally, offering a faint smile. "I like being under the radar."
Her eyes studied him. Something about the way he said it made her stomach twist.
But then Jace reached across the counter, brushing a crumb from her lower lip with his thumb. The touch was light, almost reverent. "You've got syrup…"
Mel blinked, the moment heavy with quiet electricity. He didn't pull away.
Instead, his hand slid to her cheek, fingers grazing her jaw, his gaze falling to her mouth.
"I wasn't lying last night," he said, voice low and husky. "I didn't stop because I didn't want you. I stopped because I want everything with you… and I want it right."
Her breath caught. He leaned closer, his lips brushing hers—soft, lingering, questioning.
She didn't hesitate this time.
Mel leaned into him, wrapping her arms around his neck, tasting coffee and syrup and heat as their mouths found each other again. The kiss deepened—urgent now, full of the tension they'd been dancing around for weeks.
He lifted her off the stool effortlessly, the blanket slipping from her shoulders as he carried her to the couch, never breaking the kiss. Her fingers tangled in his hair. His touch was slow, reverent—like she was something he wasn't sure he deserved.
But just as hands began to roam and breaths grew ragged, Jace paused again.
His forehead pressed to hers. "Tell me to stop, and I will."
Mel swallowed hard, heart racing. "Don't stop."
He kissed her again—this time with no hesitation.
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