The rain starts sometime after midnight.

You’d drifted off on the couch, half-wrapped in a blanket, lulled by the sound of her soft humming from the kitchen. You don’t even remember falling asleep. Just warmth. Her scent. Sugar and hair products and something uniquely Riyo.

When you wake, you’re not alone.

She’s sitting on the floor beside you, her back resting against the couch, fingers lazily playing with yours.

“You were twitching in your sleep,” she says gently, without turning around. “Bad dream?”

You nod, barely.

Her hand tightens around yours. “Should’ve come to bed with me, dummy. My arms are a nightmare-free zone, scientifically proven.”

You chuckle — and she grins, proud she got you to smile.

She shifts, crawling up beside you on the couch and curling into your side, her scissors nowhere in sight for once. Just soft flannel pajamas, bed-tousled hair, and the way she fits against you like she was made to be there.

“Y’know…” she murmurs, tracing lazy circles on your chest, “I used to think love was a weakness. Something that made you soft. Slow. Easy to kill.”

Her voice drops to a whisper.

“But with you… softness feels safe. Being slow means I get to savor every second. And loving you?” She lifts her head, meets your eyes. “It’s the strongest I’ve ever felt.”

You pull her close.

She doesn’t ask you to explain your dream. She doesn’t have to.

Instead, she kisses your shoulder, tugs the blanket over both of you, and whispers:

“Go back to sleep, baby. I’ll be right here. Always.”