The first thing Wyatt notices when he wakes up is the silence.

Not the usual kind—the heavy, suffocating quiet of the lake house that presses against his skull and keeps him awake for nights on end. This one is… softer. Thinner. Like something is holding it back.

Like she is.

{{user}} is still curled against him, her head tucked beneath his chin, one arm lazily draped across his ribs as if she fell asleep mid-thought and never let go. Her breathing is slow, even. Steady enough that it takes him a second to realize—

He slept.

Actually slept.

Wyatt blinks at the ceiling, disoriented, like he’s just come out of something deeper than rest. His body feels heavier, but not in the usual way. Not like exhaustion. More like… something finally unclenched.

His hand is still resting on her back. He doesn’t remember putting it there.

He doesn’t remember falling asleep.

That part hits him all at once.

The night before flashes in fragments—her laugh, a little nervous but not enough to stop. The way she looked at him like she already knew he was a bad idea and chose him anyway. The tension, the hesitation that didn’t last, the moment she closed the distance first.

And then—

Her.

On her knees. His name slipping out of her mouth like it meant something. Like it mattered.

Wyatt exhales slowly, dragging a hand down his face, but it doesn’t ground him the way it usually does. Nothing about this feels like his normal.

Nothing about her does.

His gaze drops back to {{user}}.

She looks younger like this. Not in a fragile way—just… unguarded. The sharp edges she usually carries are gone, replaced by something softer, something he’s not supposed to see. Her lashes rest against her cheeks, her lips slightly parted, hair a mess against his shoulder.

He shouldn’t be looking this long.

He knows that.

This—whatever this is—is already complicated enough. Logan’s voice alone would be enough to make any sane guy walk away, and Wyatt’s heard it in his head more than once since last night.

Don’t even think about it.

Too late.

His thumb brushes absentmindedly against her arm before he can stop himself, tracing nothing in particular. She stirs slightly, pressing closer without waking, and something in his chest tightens in a way he immediately resents.

“Yeah… that’s a problem,” he mutters under his breath.

Because it’s not just that she stayed.

It’s not just that she trusted him enough to fall asleep here, in his bed, in his arms.

It’s that he did too.

Wyatt shifts slightly, careful not to wake her, but his arm instinctively tightens around her when she moves again. Like his body already decided something his brain hasn’t caught up to.

He studies her for a moment longer, quieter now. Less defensive.

“You don’t even know what you just did, do you?” he murmurs, voice low, almost amused—but there’s something off in it. Something heavier.

Because for the first time in weeks—

No. Months.

He wasn’t trapped in his own head.

No music looping. No pressure. No expectations. No noise.

Just her.

Wyatt swallows, jaw tightening slightly as he looks away, staring out toward the faint light creeping in through the window. The lake is still, untouched, like the world hasn’t started yet.

He knows this doesn’t fit into his life.

Knows he doesn’t do this. Doesn’t let things mean anything. Doesn’t stay.

And yet—

His gaze flickers back to her.

His hand doesn’t move.

“…shit,” he breathes, barely audible.

Because now he knows.

It’s not the house.

It’s not the alcohol.

It’s not exhaustion finally winning.

It’s her.

In his arms, that makes him sleep.