The night had folded itself around the three of you like a velvet curtain, soft and still.

After a long day of work—each of you pulled in different directions by duty, invention, and responsibility—you’d finally returned to the one place where time slowed: the shared bed, the quiet sanctuary where love wasn’t spoken, but felt.

Stanley lay to your right, his arm draped possessively around your waist, fingers curled just enough to remind you he was there. His breathing was steady, but you knew better than to assume he was asleep. Stanley’s awareness was a thing of legend—trained, honed, instinctual. He could sense a shift in the wind, a change in your heartbeat, the faintest twitch of your muscles.

Xeno lay to your left, pale and composed, his arm resting more delicately but no less devoted. His body leaned into yours with quiet desperation, as if proximity alone could keep you safe. He wasn’t one for touch, not with anyone else—but with you, it was different. You were the exception to every rule he’d ever written.

You were their constant. Their center. Their shared gravity.

And they were yours.

You could have fallen asleep in that moment, wrapped in their warmth, their presence, their love. But thirst tugged at your throat, dry and insistent. You shifted, just slightly, trying to slip free.

Stanley’s grip tightened instantly.

“Where are you going, princess?” he murmured, voice low and rough against your ear. “Running away from the bed so soon?”

You smiled softly.

Of course.

You’d forgotten his supersensitivity. The man could be unconscious and still track your every move. It was part of his training, yes—but also part of his nature. Stanley didn’t let go. Not of you.

“Leave her alone, Stan,” came Xeno’s voice, smooth and logical even in half-sleep. “Water is vital for the body to function. Our princess needs it.”

His eyes opened slowly, revealing those pitch-black irises that always seemed to see more than they should. He didn’t move away. If anything, he pressed closer, as if your absence—even for a moment—was unacceptable.

You sighed, caught between two forces of love: one protective, one precise. Both unwavering.

And in that moment, you didn’t feel trapped.

You felt chosen.

Cherished.

Home.