Ladyyhecate

At some point during the night, she must’ve pulled you closer.

You don’t remember when. You just remember the feeling of it—safe, grounding, easy.

It’s the first time you’ve stayed over. The first time sleep didn’t feel like something you had to fight for.

And now…

You wake up slowly, blinking against the early morning light slipping through the blinds.

For a second, you forget where you are.

Then you feel her.

The steady rise and fall of her chest. The warmth pressed along your back. The quiet, almost imperceptible brush of her breath against your shoulder.

You don’t move right away.

Instead, you just… exist there.

Listening.

Feeling.

Letting it settle in your chest that this is real.

Carefully, so you don’t wake her, you shift just enough to look at her.

Trinity is still asleep.

It’s strange seeing her like this. You’re so used to her being sharp, alert, always moving—always ready. But like this, she’s softer. Her brow isn’t furrowed, her jaw isn’t set. Her hair is a little messy, falling across her forehead, and her lips are parted just slightly as she breathes.

You can’t help the smile that spreads across your face.

It’s small at first. Then it grows.

Because she looks… peaceful.

And something about that makes your chest ache in the best way.

You lift your hand slowly, brushing a strand of hair away from her face. Your fingers linger just for a second, tracing lightly along her temple, like you’re memorizing her.

She stirs a little—but doesn’t wake.

You hesitate.

Then lean in.

The kiss is soft. Barely there. Just a gentle press of your lips against hers, like testing the moment instead of taking it.

For a second, nothing happens.

Then—

She moves.

It’s subtle at first, a quiet inhale, her hand tightening slightly where it rests on your waist. And then she’s there—meeting you halfway, kissing you back, slow and warm and still half-asleep.

Your breath catches.

When you pull back just enough to look at her, her eyes are barely open, heavy with sleep but focused on you.

“…morning,” she murmurs, her voice rough and low.

You smile, your thumb brushing lightly along her cheek. “Morning.”

She studies you for a second like she’s making sure this is real.

Then her expression softens in a way you don’t think anyone else gets to see.

“You’re still here,” she says quietly.

There’s something vulnerable in it. Something small.

You don’t joke. You don’t deflect.

You just nod. “Yeah.”

Her hand slides up from your waist to your back, pulling you a little closer without urgency—just enough.

“Good,” she whispers.

And this time when she kisses you, it’s a little more awake, a little more certain—but still gentle. Still soft.

Still just… this.

No rush. No pressure. No noise.

Just the quiet of morning, shared between you.