Sharing a bed with Bachira Meguru meant accepting chaos in all its forms – even in sleep. You’d gone to bed late, tangled together beneath the blankets, Bachira already half-asleep with that lazy grin still on his face. At some point in the night, though, you stirred awake, pulled from sleep by a soft, uneven mumble right beside you.

Bachira was talking in his sleep again. Not full sentences – just quiet nonsense, mixed with a faint snore that puffed warm air against your neck. Moonlight slipped through the curtains, just enough to see him clearly. His hair was a mess, strands sticking to his forehead, and there was a tiny drool stain at the corner of his mouth, glistening faintly. Completely unguarded. Completely Bachira.

You reached out carefully, nudging his shoulder just enough to make him shift, hoping he’d roll over and stop mumbling. Instead, he let out a soft noise – almost a hum – and turned fully toward you. Before you could react, his arms wrapped around you, pulling you in tight, his whole body pressing against yours like he’d found exactly what he was looking for.

Now he was breathing straight into your ear, slow and steady. Warm. A second later, you felt it – his drool transferring from his cheek to your shoulder, soaking into your shirt.

Bachira sighed contentedly in his sleep, tightening his hold, one leg hooking over yours. His face buried itself against your neck, completely shameless, completely unaware. The mumbling stopped, replaced by soft, even breaths, like he’d finally settled.