Sabrina woke to the gray light of early morning filtering through her gothic windows, and for a moment she didn't understand why her chest felt so full.
Then she remembered.
Isaiah's arm was draped across her waist, heavy and warm, his breath slow and even against the back of her neck. He'd shifted sometime in the night, curling around her like she was something precious that needed protecting. The irony wasn't lost on her. She'd spent months watching this boy, cataloguing his habits, memorizing the way he moved through the world with that careful exhaustion that made her want to burn down everything that had ever hurt him. And now here he was, wrapped around her in her own bed, sleeping like he actually felt safe.
She didn't move. Didn't want to risk waking him when he so clearly needed the rest.
