The morning light spilled into the room like spilled milk — soft and slow, curling against the edge of the comforter. Eira stirred beneath it, warm and weightless, the scent of linen and… something else… anchoring her in that liminal space between sleep and waking.
And then—
Her hand brushed something solid.
Warm.
Breathing.
Her eyes snapped open.
Ares.
Curled beside her, still asleep, arm draped casually between them like he belonged there. Like this had always been the way mornings started.
For a solid five seconds, she didn't move. Just stared.
Then, very quietly: "What the hell."
Her voice was barely a whisper, but her thoughts? Screaming.
Oh my God. He slept here. He stayed. In my bed. All night.
She glanced at the tiny space between their bodies — barely enough to slide a book through. He hadn't even touched her. Just… stayed.
Her heart gave a traitorous flutter.
Still half-buried under the blanket, she turned her head to the ceiling and muttered softly to herself, "Okay, okay, calm down. You're not in a fanfiction. You're in your own bed. With an actual international pop star. Who smells like cedar and dreams. Great. Totally casual."
A pause.
Then: "Was I drooling? Oh God, did I drool?"
She buried her face in the pillow for a second, muffling a squeal. "I can't do this. I'm gonna die. I'm going to die of adorable proximity-related cardiac arrest."
From beside her, there was a sudden shift in the blanket. A quiet cough.
Her eyes widened.
She turned slowly.
Ares was very much awake.
And smiling.
Smirking, really.
"You were drooling," he said, voice low and rough with sleep. "Just a little."
Eira let out a horrified squeak and smacked his shoulder with the nearest pillow.
"You creep! How long have you been awake?!"
He grinned, rubbing his arm as he sat up. "Long enough to hear you panic like a romance novel heroine."
"I wasn't panicking," she mumbled, hiding behind her knees.
"You literally said 'cardiac arrest.'"
"You literally invaded my bed!"
"I missed you," he said, with absolutely no shame.
Her mouth dropped open. "You saw me three hours ago!"
"Exactly. Tragic."
She stared at him.
He looked completely unbothered, hair tousled from sleep, hoodie still rumpled. And his smile… that wasn't a stage smile. That was something softer. Sleepier. Hers.
She groaned. "You're going to ruin me, aren't you?"
Ares leaned back on his hands, eyes half-lidded. "Already started."
Later
By the time they made it downstairs, the kettle was shrieking and Eira was still blushing every time Ares passed behind her in the kitchen and whispered something dumb like, "You talk in your sleep, y'know."
She was buttering toast when her phone vibrated violently across the counter.
Incoming call: Maya 💀🌪️
"Oh God," she whispered. "It's happening."
"Who's that?" Ares asked, mouth full of toast.
"The storm."
She answered the call, bracing.
Maya's face filled the screen — wild curls everywhere, black eyeliner smudged from sleep, and a hoodie three sizes too big.
"I swear to the ancestors, if you haven't given me a full report by now—"
Her voice trailed off.
Her eyes widened.
Her jaw dropped.
Because behind Eira — in full view of the camera — was Ares.
Famous, platinum-album, face-on-a-billboard Ares.
Eating toast.
In sweatpants.
"IS THAT—"
Eira lunged to block the screen. "Don't scream!"
"YOU'RE TELLING ME THE GUY YOU STAYED UP WITH EVERY NIGHT FOR MONTHS IS ARES? AS IN, BREAK-YOUR-HEART-IN-FOUR-CHORDS ARES?!"
Ares leaned in casually and waved at the camera. "Hi, Maya."
Maya froze.
"Don't 'Hi Maya' me, you melodic criminal," she finally said, voice a dramatic gasp. "You have no idea the amount of nights I've spent listening to her dissect your voice memos like she was translating sacred texts."
"Maya," Eira hissed. "Shut. Up."
"Girl, no! You told me it was some musician friend! Not The Ares! I would've shaved my legs and caught a train!"
Ares was laughing now, full and bright.
"You're terrifying," he said to the screen.
"I know," Maya replied proudly. Then without missing a beat, she turned the full force of her chaotic attention on him. "Okay. Let's go. I've got questions."
Ares blinked. "You… do?"
"Oh yes. Question one: Have you or have you not cried to one of your own songs?"
"...Once," he admitted, grinning. "But it was allergy season and the timing was unfortunate."
"Uh-huh. Question two: Is your jawline surgically engineered?"
"Not confirmed, but probably."
"Question three," she said, holding up a finger, "do you intend to emotionally devastate my best friend and make me commit a mild felony?"
Ares lifted both hands. "Absolutely not. Emotional devastation is off the table. I'll sign something if you need it."
"Good answer. But we'll be circling back to that with legal backup."
"Maya," Eira groaned, covering her face.
"Question four," Maya continued like a freight train. "On a scale of one to 'I'll write another global heartbreak anthem,' how in love are you?"
Ares tilted his head, eyes flicking toward Eira before answering, deadpan, "Somewhere around… demo version of a ballad that no one's heard yet. But the bridge? Very promising."
Maya blinked, impressed despite herself. "Okay, poetic and cheeky. I see why she likes you. But make no mistake—if you hurt her, I know where you live."
"You don't."
"I will."
Ares turned to Eira, wide-eyed and amused. "She's like a mythological creature made of sarcasm and chaos."
"She's my best friend."
"I can tell. You have matching fire."
"Oh my God," Eira muttered. "This is the worst day of my life."
Maya beamed. "This is the best day of mine. You're dating a sentient vinyl record with perfect hair."
"We're not—" Eira began.
"Yet," Maya cut in, sipping from a neon pink mug like she'd just closed a business deal.
They talked for another five minutes — mostly Maya grilling Ares with the enthusiasm of a true crime investigator, Eira trying not to die, and Ares somehow keeping up like he was enjoying the chaos more than he should've.
By the time the call ended, Eira was red-cheeked and half-conscious, slumping against the counter.
"I feel like you just aired my diary on national television."
"That was incredible," Ares said, eyes still gleaming.
"She's going to haunt my dreams."
"No, she's going to send us memes until we die. I'm calling it now."
"Perfect," Eira mumbled. "My life is no longer mine."
Ares leaned closer, brushing a crumb off her cheek. "It's ours now. Sorry."
They were just finishing cleaning up when Ares pulled on his jacket, glancing outside at the glowing sky.
"Want to walk by the lake before it gets crowded?"
Eira nodded, wrapping her scarf loosely around her neck. "Yeah. Just give me a second to grab my bag—"
The door creaked.
They both turned.
Jun stood in the entryway.
Hair a mess. Dark circles under his eyes. His mouth a thin line.
"Nice of you two to start the evening without me," he said.
Ares blinked. "Jun—"
"You left the door unlocked," Jun added, pointedly. "Not exactly a smart move when your plus-one is half the internet's obsession."
Eira took a step back, pulse jumping. Something in Jun's voice had changed — not sharp, but flat. Controlled. Tired in the way that didn't come from lack of sleep.
Ares stepped forward. "We were just about to head out—"
"I can see that," Jun said. His gaze flicked to Eira, unreadable. "Hope the lake's nice."
The room dropped a degree.
Eira opened her mouth, but no words came.
Ares looked at Jun.
Then at her.
And quietly said, "Let's go."