Morning light spilled through the penthouse windows, warm and lazy, painting the walls gold. Alex stirred under the blanket, half-buried in pillows, his curls a mess. He blinked slowly, disoriented, before realizing that the arm wrapped tightly around his waist belonged to Liam.
Liam's breath brushed the back of his neck — steady, slow. Peaceful.
For once, there were no nightmares, no sharp edges, no blood lingering in the air. Just quiet.
Alex smiled faintly and turned carefully, trying not to wake him. But the moment he moved, Liam's arm tightened automatically, pulling him flush against his chest.
"Good morning to you too, octopus boy," Alex whispered, stifling a laugh.
Liam's voice came out low, groggy, and still annoyingly sexy. "You trying to escape, sunshine?"
Alex glanced up, his face inches from Liam's bare chest. "I was trying to breathe, actually."
"Breathing's overrated," Liam murmured, eyes still half-closed. "Stay here."
"Liam—"
