The first light of morning crept in like a secret, brushing soft golden streaks across the sheets. It kissed the edge of the nightstand, glinted on the rim of the empty teacup, and finally stretched across Hriva's bare shoulder.
Jake stirred first.
His eyes blinked open slowly, adjusting to the gentle warmth of the new day. For a moment, he didn't move. He just laid there, letting the quiet of morning wrap around him. The weight of her beside him was soft but undeniable. Her head rested against his chest, hair spilling across his skin in messy waves, and her fingers were tucked loosely beneath her chin.
She looked so peaceful. So beautiful. So entirely real.
Jake exhaled slowly, careful not to wake her, but unable to stop the way his fingers drifted through her hair. He combed it back gently, not to fix it, just to feel it. To remind himself this wasn't a dream.
Hriva stirred with a soft sigh. Her brows furrowed slightly as her body adjusted, and then she shifted closer, curling into him like it was instinct.
"Morning," she mumbled without opening her eyes.
Jake smiled. "Morning."
Her voice was thick with sleep, scratchy and sweet. She blinked her eyes open, just a sliver, then closed them again with a tired groan.
"I feel like I've been drugged with comfort," she whispered.
"You were," he murmured. "By me."
She chuckled softly and pressed a kiss against his chest. "You're full of lines."
"I'm full of truth."
She opened one eye to look up at him. "Too early to be charming."
"Never too early," he said, brushing the back of his fingers down her arm.
There was something so soft about this moment. Unpolished. Domestic. Hriva's hair was tangled, her skin warm, her breath still slow with sleep. And Jake… he looked at her like this version of her was the most honest thing he'd ever seen.
"I should probably get up," she murmured, but her body didn't move.
Jake tightened his arm around her waist. "No. You shouldn't."
Hriva smiled against his chest. "Convince me."
He didn't speak. Instead, he rolled gently, hovering over her, hands braced on either side of her face. She blinked up at him, lips parted, eyes wide but steady. There was no rush in his touch, no demand in his movement.
His fingertips traced the side of her neck, then down to her collarbone, slow and reverent. Her breath caught, chest rising under him.
"You always look at me like that," she whispered.
"Like what?"
"Like I'm fragile. Or magic."
Jake leaned down, pressing a kiss at the corner of her mouth. "You are."
Her hands slid up his back, nails grazing lightly. The warmth between them flickered again, more awake now, more present. Their bodies spoke in heat, in proximity, in the kind of anticipation that built not from lust, but from depth.
Jake leaned his forehead against hers. "You make it hard to be patient."
"Then don't be," she whispered.
Their lips met again, slower than the night before, but with more gravity. Each kiss pulled them deeper, not just into passion, but into something far more dangerous.
Intimacy.
Hriva arched into him, their bodies pressing together like puzzle pieces. Jake kissed her neck, her jaw, the curve of her shoulder, each touch deliberate, as if he was writing his name into her skin. Her fingers tangled in his hair, tugging gently, drawing him closer.
But then, without warning, she paused. Not out of fear. Not rejection. Just a stillness that came from vulnerability.
Jake noticed instantly. He looked down at her, eyes searching.
"You okay?"
She nodded slowly, her chest rising beneath him. "Yeah. I just… I don't want this to be a one-night glow."
Jake brushed her hair back, cupping her cheek. "It won't be. I'm not going anywhere, Hriva."
Something in her softened at those words. She reached up, touched his face like she was checking if he was real.
"Promise?"
"I already did," he said.
Then he kissed her again, and this time, there was no hesitation. Just two people falling a little further, letting go a little more.
They didn't go all the way that morning, but it didn't matter. What passed between them was more intimate than sex. It was the kind of closeness built in shared silence, in vulnerable glances, in the way they wrapped around each other afterward, not saying a word, because they didn't need to.
The kind of morning that stays long after the clock ticks forward.
By the time they got out of bed, sunlight had taken over the room completely. Hriva stood in Jake's hoodie, making coffee with messy hair and bare legs. Jake watched her from the kitchen doorway, arms crossed, the dumbest smile on his face.
"You're staring again," she said, not turning around.
"Still dreaming," he replied.
She turned then, one brow raised. "You always this poetic in the morning?"
"Only when I wake up with you."
She rolled her eyes, but the blush on her cheeks gave her away.
They had breakfast on the couch. Legs tangled. Music playing low from Jake's phone. And somewhere between the coffee and the quiet conversation, it became obvious.
They were no longer falling.
They had already fallen.
And neither of them wanted to stop.