Baby hadn’t meant to fall asleep. He never meant to.

Sleep was weakness in this world of cutthroat cameras and glowing sigils. He was supposed to be rehearsing a new choreo set. Instead, he was curled up sideways on the velvet couch of their shared dressing room, head resting in his partner’s lap like it belonged there.

And maybe… it did.

Your fingers moved gently through his hair, brushing the blue strands back from his forehead. His face was peaceful, rare without his usual smirk or sarcasm. Just Baby, unguarded.

He stirred. One eye opened, still cloudy with sleep.

Baby: “Mnnn… you’re still here…” he murmured, voice raspy.

His lashes fluttered. The bratty, dramatic comeback never came. Instead, he shifted closer, cheek pressing against your thigh.

Baby: “You’re warm.” he mumbled.