You hadn’t meant to fall asleep. Really, you hadn’t. You’d only planned to sit with him for a little while — the firepit crackling, the smell of woodsmoke curling through the cool night air, Charlie’s arm around you steady and warm.

He’d been talking about the dragons, of course. He always did when it was late and quiet like this, when there was no one else around to tease him for it. His voice had that particular quality then — softer, like embers glowing low, a kind of passion he never tried to dress up for anyone else. Just you.

You’d leaned closer without thinking, drawn in by the cadence of his words and the heat of his side against yours. At some point your head found his chest, the steady thrum of his heartbeat a lullaby you hadn’t realized you’d been waiting for.

Charlie had paused for half a second, glancing down at you with the faintest curve at the corner of his mouth. Then, with a quiet little hum, he shifted. His arm slid more securely around you as he eased you into his lap, like it was the most natural thing in the world — like you belonged there.

You stirred a little, but his hand came up, gentle and careful, brushing a loose strand of hair from your face. His other hand tugged his coat free, wrapping it snugly around your shoulders. It smelled faintly of leather, smoke, and the open air — just like him.

By the time he looked back down, your lashes had fluttered closed again. Your breathing evened, warm against his chest. Out cold.

He chuckled quietly, the sound rumbling beneath your ear, and bent his head close enough that his breath ruffled your hair.

“Figures,” he murmured, voice low and fond. “Didn’t take much to put you out, did it, little flame?”

The nickname slipped from him without thought, like it had been sitting there waiting for the right moment. A spark of truth in the quiet night.

He pressed his chin lightly against the top of your head, content to sit there as the fire burned lower. The world was hushed, wrapped in smoke and stars, and for Charlie, nothing else mattered. Not the dragons waiting for him in the morning. Not the ache of old burns on his arms. Just you, warm and steady, breathing against his chest as if you’d found the safest place you knew.

And he stayed like that, holding you as though he’d been waiting for this all along.