8

Your Hug is My Lullaby

For a moment, I tensed.

His arm was warm, heavier than I expected, resting loosely around my waist. His breathing was slow, steady, peaceful.

I waited for my body to react—to jolt upright, to push him away, to feel that wave of flustered panic that usually came with being too close to someone.

But it didn't come.

Instead, I felt… comfortable.

The warmth of his presence, the steady rhythm of his breath against my shoulder, the quiet rise and fall of his chest behind me—it was strangely calming. Soothing, even.

I exhaled slowly, feeling my body finally relax into the mattress.

Maybe I was just too tired to care anymore. Maybe I had spent too much energy overthinking things, and now my brain had just given up.

Or maybe…

Maybe this wasn't so bad.

My eyelids felt heavier now, the weight of exhaustion settling in. I barely registered the way my lips brushed against his arm—a light, fleeting touch.

But instead of jolting back, instead of letting panic sink its claws into me…

I let it happen.

My body softened, my grip on the blanket loosening. His warmth, his presence, the slow, steady quiet of the night—it all blurred together, lulling me deeper into sleep.

And before I even realized it…

I was gone.

Something stirred me from sleep—not enough to fully wake me, but enough to pull me into that hazy space between dreaming and consciousness.

It was warmth. A steady, comforting warmth wrapped around me.

My body felt heavy, like I was sinking deeper into the mattress. The air was cool, but the heat pressed against my back made it impossible to feel cold.

Then, a shift.

His arm, still draped around my waist, pulled me in slightly, his grip unconsciously tightening. His leg moved too, hooking over my hip, pressing us even closer.

I barely processed it.

Some distant part of my mind registered that this wasn't exactly normal. That this wasn't how I usually slept.

But it felt… nice.

The gentle weight of him, the slow rhythm of his breathing, the way his body naturally sought warmth in his sleep—it all blurred into something undeniably comfortable.

I sighed softly, shifting just enough to nestle deeper into the warmth.

This is fine.

Sleep was already pulling me back under, and I let it.

No overthinking. No awkwardness. Just… warmth.

And with that, I drifted off again—closer than before.

(From His POV)

Flynn was still asleep.

His breath was slow, steady—too peaceful. It was a stark contrast to how he usually was when awake—always tense, always guarded, always pretending he wasn't affected by anything.

But now?

His body was warm against mine, completely relaxed. Completely vulnerable.

I exhaled softly, my fingers twitching where they rested against his waist.

How did we end up like this?

I didn't remember pulling him closer in my sleep, didn't remember tangling our legs together like this—but I must have.

He must have let me.

Or maybe he just didn't realize.

A part of me wanted to move, to loosen my hold on him before he woke up and shoved me away.

But I didn't.

Instead, I stayed still, feeling the quiet rise and fall of his back against my chest.

Familiar. Warm. Mine.

Mine?

I clenched my jaw slightly, eyes narrowing at the thought.

No. Not mine.

Flynn wasn't something to be claimed. He wasn't someone who belonged to anyone—least of all me.

But that didn't stop the possessive heat curling in my stomach.

I shifted slightly, my arm tightening ever so subtly around his waist.

He didn't resist.

Did he even realize?

I lowered my head just a bit, my breath brushing against the nape of his neck.

Still nothing.

No tension. No flinching. Just his soft, steady breathing.

My fingers flexed once against his side before stilling.

I should move before he wakes up.

I should.

But instead, I close my eyes, letting the warmth sink deeper into my skin.

And just for a little longer—I let myself have this.

Flynn shifted slightly in his sleep, pressing the tiniest bit closer.

It was instinctual—probably unconscious—but it sent a sharp jolt through me anyway.

I had to let go.

But as the minutes passed, as the quiet stretched between us, I found myself not wanting to.

Because the truth was—he didn't feel like a stranger in my arms.

he felt like home.