I woke to warmth pressed against my side, and a weight draped across my hip like a claim. Nine had curled into me sometime during the night, his face tucked against my collarbone, breath brushing rhythmically over my skin. His hand rested lightly on my waist, fingers splayed as if to anchor himself there.
You're awake, his voice brushed through the bond, still soft with sleep.
Yeah, I replied, keeping still. You're up early.
Didn't sleep much, he murmured, pressing his forehead a little harder against my shoulder. I liked the way you smell when you're asleep.
Nyx stirred in my chest, pleased. He feels safe, she said, don't ruin it.
I didn't intend to.
Nine shifted, his hand sliding up to rest over my sternum, right above where my heart beat a little too fast. His fingers traced the faint ridge of a scar he'd seen before but never touched until now.
"Does this hurt?" he asked aloud, voice rough with disuse.
"No," I whispered.
He nodded, seemingly satisfied, and slowly sat up. I expected him to pull away, maybe go about his usual routine of tidying and folding things that didn't need it. Instead, he simply climbed into my lap, straddling my thighs with the smooth efficiency of someone who'd clearly done it before—but this time, not for anyone else's pleasure.
He hummed quietly, nuzzling into my neck and went still, melting against me like it was the only place he belonged. A minute passed, then two, and I felt him slip entirely into rest—his breath slowing, limbs growing heavy.
I should have gotten up. There was too much to do. But instead, I let my chin rest against the top of his head and breathed in.
Later, when I finally did make it to my desk, Nine trailed after me without needing to be asked. He didn't hover; he simply moved behind me once I sat down and began kneading his thumbs into my shoulders like it was second nature.
"You're tense," he said quietly.
"I have reasons to be."
You're always thinking, he commented through the bond. Even when you're with me.
I closed my eyes for a moment, letting the weight of his hands and the hum of his presence calm the noise in my head.
I don't know how to stop, I admitted.
Then let me help, he said simply. His thoughts weren't pushing or desperate—they were just... offering.
After a pause, I reached up and laced my fingers with his. He squeezed back gently and leaned down, brushing his lips against my temple before sitting on the floor beside my chair. He rested his head on my thigh like it was the most normal thing in the world, arms folded neatly in his lap.
We stayed like that a while. Comfortable. Quiet.
Later, when I shifted slightly to reach for a report, Nine murmured, Can we stay like this tonight too?
You never have to ask that, I replied, brushing a hand through his hair.
His contentment fluttered through the bond like a warm breeze—wordless, but whole.
And for a moment, the world outside the room didn't matter.