You stir awake in the soft gray light of morning, tangled in sheets and Simon’s scent, the dream still lingering like warmth on your skin. Your eyes flutter open, and your lips tingle with the memory of your dream—his hands in your hair, your laughter against his mouth, the thrill of kissing like you were both back in high school with nothing but time and each other.

“Wow,” you whisper, voice still husky with sleep, “what an amazing dream. We were making out, giggling and kissing like a couple of high school kids at Lover’s Lane, but… I can’t remember how it ended…”

Next to you, Simon shifts lazily, his half-lidded eyes locking onto yours with that quiet mischief he keeps just beneath the surface. He reaches up and pulls down the collar of his shirt.

Hickeys. A trail of them, flushed and unmistakable, dotting his neck like you’d claimed him in your sleep.

Your jaw drops. “DID YOU HAVE THESE BEFORE?!”

Simon smirks, voice low and amused. “No.”

You sit up so fast the blanket falls to your lap. “WHY DIDN’T YOU WAKE ME?!”

He raises an eyebrow. “I thought you were awake.”