(ANGELO'S POV)
As I wake up, the first thing I notice is warmth.
Then weight.
Krystal is still curled against me, exactly where she settled last night. Her head is resting against my chest, her hair spread across my shirt and arm, one hand loosely gripping the fabric near my ribs like she held onto me in her sleep.
My arms are still around her.
I don't move because I don't want to wake her.
The safehouse living room is quiet except for the sound of her soft breathing. Early morning light slips through the gaps in the curtains and stretches across the floor, climbing the couch and catching on strands of her blonde hair.
I slowly ease back a little just to take a better look at her face, careful not to disturb her.
And that's when I see the dried tear tracks on her cheeks.
My heart aches at the thought that she cried herself to sleep.
