Dylan's POV
The movie hums quietly in the background, but I'm not watching. Ana is asleep against my shoulder, her breathing steady, her body warm beneath the blanket I pulled around us. I could stay like this forever, but the couch isn't the best place for her to sleep.
I shift slightly, careful not to jostle her. Her head tips closer to my chest, and I adjust the blanket so it covers her shoulders better. She looks so peaceful like this, so unguarded, that the thought of waking her feels almost cruel.
Still, the couch isn't where she should spend the night. Slowly, I slide an arm around her waist, steadying her so she doesn't slip. I hesitate, my heart hammering, then slip my other arm beneath her knees. With one fluid movement, I lift her against me. She stirs, her fingers brushing lightly against my shirt before curling there, like she's holding onto me even in sleep. The small touch makes something deep inside me ache.
I adjust my grip, protective without even thinking, keeping her close to my chest as though the world itself might try to take her from me. As I carry her down the hall, I keep my steps slow and careful, angling my body so her head doesn't bump the doorframe. She's weightless in my arms, but the responsibility feels heavier than anything I've ever carried.
Her door is cracked open, so I nudge it wider with my shoulder and step inside. The room smells faintly of vanilla, like her shampoo. I lower her onto the bed as gently as I can, and as I pull the blanket over her, she shifts slightly—turning just enough that her hand brushes the space beside her, like she's searching for me even in her dreams. The sight makes my chest tighten.
I should leave. I know I should. But then she shifts again, her body curling ever so slightly toward the empty space at her side, as though silently inviting me closer. Before I can talk myself out of it, I sit on the edge of the bed and slowly stretch out beside her. My arm curves around her instinctively, holding her the way I've wanted to since she drifted off on the couch. She fits so naturally against me it almost hurts.
For a few stolen minutes, I let myself imagine this is ours. That she's mine. That I don't have to feel guilty for wanting her like this.
But guilt is louder than fantasy. She's been through too much already, and I won't risk taking advantage of her trust. With more effort than I care to admit, I slip my arm back and ease myself off the bed. I lean down, brushing my lips against her forehead. "You're safe with me. Always. I'll never let anyone hurt you again. And I swear—" my voice breaks before I can stop it, "—I'll never take you back to Xander. Not even if you asked."
The words hang heavy between us, spilling out more like a vow than a whisper. I linger just long enough to press one more kiss to her skin, then force myself to leave, believing she's sound asleep. Closing her door on my way out.
In my room, I lie awake staring at the ceiling, replaying the weight of her in my arms, the warmth of her body pressed to mine. I want to go back. I want to stay with her. But I don't. I can't. And the silence between our rooms feels heavier than it should.
Ana's POV
I'm not asleep. Not the whole time.
I wake when Dylan lifts me from the couch, but I don't let him know. His arms are steady, strong, cradling me like I'm something fragile. I go limp, eyes closed, heart pounding too fast as he carries me down the hall.
When he sets me on the bed, I almost whisper his name. Almost ask him to stay. Instead, I keep my breathing slow and even, like I'm still lost in sleep.
And when he lies down beside me, wrapping me in the kind of warmth I've been craving for longer than I'll admit—I think my heart will give me away. His chest rises and falls against my back, steady and calm, while I fight the urge to turn into him, to hold him close, to ask him not to leave.
But I don't. I stay still. Silent.
When he finally shifts, pulling away with agonizing care, I almost cry out. Every part of me wants to stop him, to ask him to stay. And then I hear it—his whisper against my forehead: "You're safe with me. Always. I'll never let anyone hurt you again. And I swear. I'll never take you back to Xander. Not even if you asked."
His voice breaks as he finishes whispering.
The words shatter something in me, soft and sharp all at once. My throat tightens, but I keep my breathing even, terrified he'll realize I'm awake. His lips press gently against my skin, tender in a way that steals the breath from my lungs, before he pulls away, certain I'm still sound asleep.
It takes every restraint I have in me not to pull him back. To tell him to stay with me. I wish I can tell him that we can stop pretending, that we can be us without any restrictions.
The house falls quiet as he closes my door. My crutch rests forgotten in the corner, my limp little more than a whisper these days. Progress I should celebrate, but all I can think about is the ghost of his arms still wrapped around me.
I lie awake, eyes closed, breathing slow and steady like I'm still dreaming. But I'm not. I'm wide awake, aching for him, clinging to his whispered promise like it's the only thing keeping me whole.
And I wonder if, two rooms away, he's lying awake too. Thinking of me the way I'm thinking of him. I wonder if he's fighting the urge to coma back to me, as much as I'm fighting the urge to run to his room and sleep by his side.