The forest mission had dragged on longer than expected.

It wasn’t difficult—just tedious. A few rogue alchemists, a collapsed bridge, and a lot of walking. By the time you and Edward finished, the sun had dipped below the trees, painting the sky in bruised shades of violet and gold.

You were exhausted.

He was grumbling.

And the abandoned cabin you stumbled upon felt like a miracle.

It was dusty, creaky, and smelled faintly of old wood and forgotten rain—but it had a roof, four walls, and one bed.

Just one.

Edward stared at it like it had personally betrayed him.

You raised an eyebrow.

“Unless you want to sleep on the floor,” you offered.

He scoffed, muttered something about splinters, and threw his coat over the mattress like it would somehow make the situation less awkward.

Now, hours later, you lay on opposite ends of the bed, backs turned, legs tangled in the middle, trying not to breathe too loudly.

And then—

“Damn, {{user}}, try not to move so much, will you?” Edward hissed, voice muffled by the pillow. “I can’t sleep like this.”

You bit back a smile.

He was tense. Flustered. Probably blushing into the sheets. You could practically feel the heat radiating off him.

“I’m not moving,” you whispered.

“Yes, you are. You kicked me. Twice.”

“That was the blanket.”

“Liar.”

You shifted slightly, just to mess with him.

He groaned.

Silence settled again, broken only by the creak of the cabin and the soft rhythm of your breathing. And beneath all the awkwardness, all the bickering, there was something else.

A quiet closeness.

The kind that didn’t need words.

The kind that made even a cramped, uncomfortable bed feel like the safest place in the world.