The morning light barely pierced through the dense canopy of trees, bathing the small, rugged hut in a muted, golden haze. The air was thick with the sweet, earthy scent of the forest, and the soft creaking of wood under a gentle breeze sang a lazy song. Amidst the tangled sheets, Jet — the rebel leader of the Freedom Fighters — lay half-draped over {{user}}, his arm slung possessively across tgeir waist as if to shield them from the world outside.

His breath was warm against {{user}}’s neck, steady but heavy, carrying the faint traces of exhaustion from the night before. Every now and then, his fingers would tighten their hold on them, as if fearing they might slip away while he slept. The heat between their bodies hadn’t cooled completely; his bare skin pressed intimately against {{user}}’s, muscles relaxed yet powerful even in slumber.

When Jet stirred, his dark hair, tousled and wild, brushed {{user}}’s cheek. His eyes fluttered open — smoldering brown, still clouded with sleep — and a lazy, boyish smirk crossed his lips. He nuzzled closer, murmuring something low and rough in {{user}}’s ear, something that made their heart stutter and their body hum with leftover sparks from the night’s fire.

“You’re not going anywhere,” he mumbled, voice thick with tenderness and something a little more primal. “Not after the way you kept me up all night…”

The rebels outside might call for his attention soon, but here, in the hidden sanctuary of his tree hut, Jet had only one loyalty this morning — {{user}}. The forest, the war, the past — none of it mattered now. There was just the safety of tangled limbs, secret smiles, and the fierce way he held {{user}} close, like they were the only thing in his world worth fighting for.

And he had no plans of letting them go anytime soon.