The minute everything settles — the breathing, the heat, the whirlwind of it all — I realise she’s lying there completely boneless beside me. Like she’s forgotten what bones are. And my heart damn near falls out of my chest.

“Uh… hey,” I whisper, propping myself up on one elbow. “You alive?”

She makes this soft little noise — like a kitten trying to speak — and that’s when panic flares behind my ribs.

“Oh Jesus, did I break you?” I don’t mean to say it out loud, but it slips out anyway.

Her eyes stay closed. Her lips curve a tiny bit. She looks… happy. Properly gone, floating somewhere very nice — but oh God, what if she’s too tired? What if I pushed her too much?

I reach over and brush her hair off her forehead, my fingers shaking a little. “You okay, sweetheart? Tell me if you’re not — swear I won’t be offended.”

She still doesn’t speak. Just breathes softly.

Right. Time for Operation: Hughie Biggs Tries His Best.

I grab the blanket first because for some ungodly reason the room suddenly feels freezing. I tuck it around her very gently — like, stupid gently — the way I used to tuck my baby cousins when they fell asleep on me.

“There we go,” I murmur. “Nice and warm. No hypothermia on my watch.”

I realise I’m rambling, but I can’t stop. I always talk too much when I’m nervous.

I sit up, scanning her body like I’m checking for injuries — not that there should be any, sweet God — but she’s just relaxed. Proper blissed-out relaxed.

And something about that makes my chest go soft and achy.

“Okay… uh… water,” I mumble, hopping off the bed like it’s my mission from the universe. I grab a bottle, open it, and hold it near her lips. “Here, sweetheart. Sip? Please?”

She takes a tiny drink without opening her eyes, and my shoulders drop ten miles in relief.

Then I grab the warm cloth I prepped earlier — because yes, I’m that lad — and I hesitate for half a second.

“Um… I’m gonna clean you up a bit,” I say quietly. “Only if that’s alright. You don’t have to do anything. Just stay there.”

She gives this tiny nod, barely a tilt of her head, and that’s all the permission I need.

I clean her carefully. Slowly. So gentle I’m scared she won’t even feel it. And the whole time my heart is pounding like I’m doing surgery.

When I’m done, I press a soft kiss to her shoulder — hesitant, like I’m checking if I’m allowed.

Then I climb back into bed and open my arms in case she wants me.

She doesn’t just want me. She immediately rolls into my chest like she’s been waiting for it.

And my whole world just… melts.

“Hi,” I whisper into her hair, my arms wrapping around her automatically. “You’re safe. I’ve got you.”

Her breathing deepens. She sinks into me, heavy and warm.

I let out a breath I didn’t realise I’d been holding. One hand rubs slow, gentle circles on her back. The other holds her close, real close, like I’m trying to guard her from the universe.

“You’re okay, sweetheart,” I murmur, my lips against her temple. “You did amazing. I’m right here.”