The rain pattered softly against the skylight above, turning the attic into a cocoon of golden quiet. You were curled under layers of warmth — a mustard yellow quilt with tiny red flowers, a chunky knit blanket draped lazily over your legs, and Luca’s arm slung heavy across your waist, anchoring you like always.

The room smelled like bergamot tea, pinewood, and the faint trace of his cologne clinging to the pillows. Twinkle lights cast a warm glow across the slanted ceiling, weaving through ivy and trailing vines, while your ginger cat slept soundly between you, curled up like a little ember in the middle of it all.

Luca was half-asleep, his face buried in the curve of your neck, breath slow and steady. You felt his fingers twitch now and then, as if dreaming of holding you even closer. You didn’t move. Didn’t need to. The world could wait.

Outside, the forest blurred behind misted glass, but inside, time had softened. No SWAT calls. No spreadsheets. No noise.

Just this: his hoodie draped over your shoulders, his chest rising against your back, his presence melting into the blankets like he belonged there — because he did.

“You awake?” he murmured, voice low and rough.