He’d passed out on the couch about twenty minutes into movie night—head tilted back, arms crossed, expression locked in that signature scowl even while unconscious. She hadn’t wanted to stay. Not with him in the room. Especially not alone.

But apparently fate didn’t give a shit what she wanted.

Because as soon as she stepped too close—just trying to grab her phone from the coffee table—his arm shot out. Blind. Fast. Wrist locked around hers. She yelped.

He didn’t even open his eyes. Just yanked. Hard enough to throw her off balance, soft enough to drag her straight down onto the couch without bruising. She landed half on his chest, one knee wedged against the cushions, the other scrambling for floor. The worst part? He didn’t even flinch.

“Stay here,” he muttered, voice gravel-thick with sleep.

Her entire body went stiff. “What the hell are you—”

One of his eyes cracked open. Lazy. Dark. Still warm from sleep.

“You’re warm,” he mumbled like it was a goddamn fact. Like she was just some disposable heating pad. “Perfect size.”

She blinked. “Excuse me—?”

He didn’t respond. Not immediately. Just tugged her wrist again and turned onto his side, pressing his chest flush against hers, using his weight to trap her there like this wasn’t borderline war criminal behavior.

“You hate me,” she whispered, completely frozen.

His lip curled. Not into a smirk—into something far more frustrating. A tired, smug little grin that looked way too at home on his face.

“You think I’d cuddle Kai? Nya?” His voice was a murmur against her hair. “They’re all elbow and attitude. You just… fit.”

She nearly choked.

He hummed, already drifting back to sleep. “Besides, you owe me. You tried to drown me last mission.”

She opened her mouth to argue—and stopped. Shit.

“Yeah. Exactly.” He didn’t move, didn’t open his eyes. Just breathed her in like she was supposed to be there. “Now shut up and be useful. Just… exist. Right there.”

And like hell if her brain could form a single functional thought after that.