Adrian woke first, disoriented.
There was warmth against him. Weight on his arm that had gone slightly numb. A pressure against his chest that rose and fell with steady breathing.
Memory flooded back in a rush: Dante stayed. Dante was here, asleep in Adrian's bed, hair messed up and face relaxed in a way Adrian rarely saw when he was awake.
Adrian lay perfectly still, not wanting to wake him. Not wanting to move and break whatever spell had allowed them to sleep peacefully together all night.
He just observed.
In sleep, Dante looked younger. Unguarded. The permanent tension he carried in his jaw—the one that had been there since they were kids competing in everything—was completely gone. His features were soft, peaceful. One arm was flung across Adrian's chest, the other tucked under his own cheek.
Adrian had the overwhelming urge to kiss him. To press his lips to Dante's forehead, his temple, the corner of his mouth.
But he restrained himself.
