She woke in his arms.
It felt different. Before — even yesterday, even after the Northern Lights — there had been a small reserve in her. A place she kept separate. Insurance. The body remembered what the mind refused to name.
This morning, nothing was separate.
She watched him sleep. His face was relaxed in a way it rarely was awake — not performing, not attending, not present for anyone but himself. His lashes were dark against his skin. His breathing was slow and even.
She'd never watched him sleep before. She'd always been the one watched.
Franz stirred. His eyes opened — not startled, like he'd known she was there before consciousness caught up. He rolled onto his side, facing her fully, and leaned in to press a kiss to her crown.
"Morning."
"Morning."
"How long were you watching?"
"Not long." A pause. "Ten minutes."
"That's long."
"I was thinking."
"About?"
"How different this is. Waking up here. Not wondering if I should leave before you wake up."
