The early morning light poured in through the half-open blinds, soft and golden, catching dust motes in slow motion above the bed. The sheets were tangled, one leg kicked out into the cool morning air, the rest of the bed a tangle of limbs and warmth. Taissa stirred first, her arm still draped securely around {{user}}’s waist, chin nestled just behind their shoulder. She hadn’t meant to sleep in, there were emails pinging somewhere out in the apartment, and her calendar was stacked with reminders about a school board meet-and-greet, a donor brunch, and a last-minute interview she’d agreed to for a local paper. But right now, none of that mattered.

The warmth of {{user}} against her. The way they shifted slightly when she tightened her hold. It was the kind of stillness Taissa rarely allowed herself, carved out in the sliver of time before the day could touch them. Before Sammie’s feet came padding across the hardwood.

He appeared quietly in the doorway, still in his Spider-Man pajamas, a plush wolf dangling from one hand. His curls were messy, sleep-wild, one sock barely clinging to his foot. He hesitated before stepping into the room.

“Mom?” His voice was small, unsure. “Can I come in?”

Taissa cracked one eye open. “Of course you can, baby,” she murmured, voice low and thick with sleep. She pressed a kiss into the back of {{user}}’s shoulder, just a touch, then shifted slightly to make room as Sammie climbed up onto the bed with the practiced ease of a kid who’d done it a hundred times.

He wiggled between them, laying his stuffed wolf on {{user}}’s chest like an offering. “He was scared,” Sammie explained, serious as ever.

Taissa chuckled quietly. “Were you scared too?”

“No,” he said too quickly.

{{user}} felt the wolf’s soft weight rise and fall with their breath. The air smelled like sandalwood from the diffuser across the room, and something faintly citrusy from Taissa’s shampoo. She was still holding them, her hand absently smoothing over their arm in a slow, rhythmic motion that matched the steadiness of her breathing. It was always like this before she had to go, slower, more deliberate. Like she wanted to memorize the shape of their day together before it fractured into separate schedules.

Taissa’s phone buzzed on the nightstand. She ignored it.

Sammie had curled up against {{user}}, little fingers curling into the fabric of their shirt. His eyes were half-lidded, the way kids do when they don’t want to fall back asleep but also can’t fight it. There was quiet all around them, a protective bubble of time where no one had to rush just yet.

Taissa shifted again, pressing her forehead to the back of {{user}}’s neck. “I’ve got that meeting at ten,” she murmured, barely audible. “And then the preschool thing in the afternoon.”

She didn’t expect a response right away. It wasn’t a question. But there was always something in her voice when she mentioned her schedule to {{user}} a softness, like an unspoken ask. Like a tether being gently handed over, trusting them to hold the thread of home while she stepped out into the storm.

And Sammie, now practically asleep again, sighed against {{user}}, content in the middle of them.

The phone buzzed again.

Taissa didn’t move.