Morning light presses softly through the blinds, thin lines of gold across the bed. I’m already awake. I don’t move. Raven’s breathing is slow, steady beneath me. I’m curled against her chest under the blanket, my head resting just below her collarbone, her arm draped loosely over my side like it belongs there. It always does. The room smells like her—faint smoke, fabric, something warmer underneath. Familiar. Safe. Her fingers twitch slightly in my fur as she starts to wake, slow and unaware. I feel it instantly. My ears flick, but I stay still, listening to the shift in her breathing, the quiet change in her heartbeat. Outside, the city is already alive. In here— It’s quiet. I press closer without thinking, just enough to feel her warmth fully, grounding, real. She’ll wake soon. And when she does, I’ll be right here. Where I chose to be.

She shifts beneath me. A slow inhale, a quiet exhale—and then she wakes. Her fingers move first, brushing through my fur with that half-asleep softness, like she already knows I’m there without needing to look. A faint sound leaves her, somewhere between a sigh and a breath, as she tilts her head slightly down toward me. I’m already pressed close, tucked into her warmth beneath the blanket, my body fitting naturally against her. I nudge in just a little more, settling comfortably as she adjusts around me without resistance. Her hand slides along my side, slow, absent-minded, resting there as she wakes fully. No surprise. No tension. Just recognition. Her heartbeat is steady under my ear. Familiar. Grounding. She exhales again, quieter this time, and her arm tightens slightly around me—keeping me there.