Will

I wake up around 3 a.m., disoriented and warm, my senses muddled by sleep and the lingering haze of the edible. The apartment is dark except for the soft glow of the city filtering through the windows.

There's a weight around me—solid, steady, familiar.

Stefani.

I blink slowly, my head rising and falling gently with her breathing. I'm lying on top of her, stretched out against her stomach, wrapped in the soft cocoon of a blanket that I don't remember pulling over myself.

My mind spins for a second, trying to piece together how I ended up like this. Flashes of memory flicker through me—the two of us talking, laughing, dancing like idiots in her living room. Then collapsing onto the couch, exhaustion settling into our bones.

Somewhere along the way, I must have curled into her. Or maybe she pulled me closer. Either way, she's here, and she's warm, and for a second, I just stay there, my cheek pressed to the fabric of her T-shirt, my body draped lazily over hers.

Her hand is resting against my back, fingers curled lightly against the hem of my tank top.

I swallow, my pulse quickening for reasons I don't want to examine too closely.

Carefully, I slide off her, trying not to wake her as I shift onto the couch beside her instead. The blanket pools around me, and suddenly, I feel cold.

Stefani stirs slightly at the loss of contact, a small sound escaping her lips as she turns onto her side, face relaxed in sleep.

I watch her for a moment. The soft rise and fall of her chest, the way her hair is a mess around her face, the way she always looks so young when she's asleep, like she's carrying less of the world on her shoulders.

I should go back to sleep.

But my mind won't stop buzzing.

Instead, I push myself up slowly, grabbing my water glass from the coffee table and padding toward the kitchen. The floor is cool against my bare feet as I refill my glass, taking small sips to ground myself.

It's fine, I tell myself. Nothing weird happened. We always used to crash like this after long nights, after long years.

But still.

Still.

I lean against the counter, exhaling slowly. My phone is on the table where I left it, and for a second, I consider texting Elena. But what would I even say?

"Hey, I miss you. Hey, I wish you were here instead of halfway across the world. Hey, I fell asleep on Stefani tonight, and I don't know why it's making my chest feel tight."

I rub my temples, pushing the thought away.

Behind me, I hear a soft shuffle of movement. When I glance back, Stefani is stirring, blinking up at the ceiling before turning her head toward me.

Her voice is heavy with sleep. "Why are you awake?"

I shrug, sipping my water. "Just woke up."

She hums, stretching her arms over her head before rolling onto her side again, eyes barely open. "Come back to sleep."

It's such an easy, casual request, like it's second nature to her. Like this is normal.

Maybe it is. Maybe it's just me who feels off-kilter.

I hesitate for only a second before sighing and making my way back to the couch. Stefani doesn't move much, just shifts slightly to make room as I lower myself down again, resting my head back onto her stomach like before.

She exhales, a slow, deep sound, and then her hand—warm and steady—settles back onto the nape of my neck.

The weight of it sends a strange comfort through me, grounding me in the quiet of the night.

Nothing more to this, I remind myself.

Just warmth. Just familiarity.

Just Stefani.

I close my eyes, my breathing evening out as I will myself to sleep.

—-

I wake to the quiet hum of early morning, the kind of stillness that hangs heavy before the sun even thinks about rising. The world is blue and muted, and I almost think I'm dreaming—until I feel her fingers, slow and gentle, threading through my hair.

My head is still resting on Stefani's stomach, but at some point in the night, my arm must've wrapped around her, curling beneath her lower back, holding her close.

I blink slowly and lift my gaze, finding her in the soft gray light leaking through the curtains. Her face is partially cast in shadow, but I can see the faint outline of her lips, the glint of her eyes as she looks down at me.

"I'm the one who can't sleep now," she whispers.

I shift, starting to push myself up. "I should move—"

But her hand presses lightly against the back of my neck, not forcefully, just... asking.

"Stay still."

I freeze for a second, torn between instinct and comfort. But I settle, resting my head back against her, letting my eyes flutter shut. My arm tightens around her without meaning to, and then—

I feel it.

A sharp inhale, the sudden, unmistakable heave of her breath under my cheek.

It startles something in me, jolts me enough to know I need to get up before the moment tips into something else.

I sit up slowly, peeling myself away. "I'm getting some water," I say, my voice soft and scratchy.

She doesn't stop me this time. Doesn't follow either.

I cross the quiet living room, grab my water bottle from the counter, and head toward her bedroom.

The bed is still made on one side, the pillows soft and cool when I slide in. I curl up tightly, burying my face into the sheets, and it's immediate—her scent is everywhere. Warm and clean, and utterly her.

I don't let myself think about it too much.

I just pull the blanket over my shoulder and let the scent of her wrap around me.

Sleep comes again, eventually. But it brings dreams I don't quite remember. Only the feeling of them lingers—close, breathless, and quiet.

—

I wake to the sound of soft movement—bare feet against hardwood, the kettle hissing low in the kitchen, the kind of morning quiet that feels almost sacred.

Sunlight has finally made its way into the room, thin slats of gold stretching across the bed and the floor. It's later than I expected, though still early enough that the world hasn't fully woken.

I stretch beneath the blanket, the sheets warm and twisted around me. For a second, I almost forget where I am, until I roll slightly and catch the lingering scent on the pillow beside me.

Stefani.

It comes back in pieces—last night's haze, the laughter, the dancing, the way we curled together on the couch like some unspoken habit. Her stomach rising and falling under my cheek. The way she asked me to stay still.

The way I almost did.

I sit up slowly, rubbing my eyes and dragging my fingers through my hair. The weight of everything presses against me all at once—Elena's absence, opening night a week away, the tension under my skin I can't quite shake.

When I shuffle out into the hallway, Stefani's already in the kitchen. She's got her back to me, hair pulled up into a messy bun, one leg curled slightly as she leans against the counter. The smell of coffee drifts through the air.

"Morning," I say, my voice still rough with sleep.

She turns, offering a small smile. "Hey. I didn't want to wake you."

"You didn't." I step in slowly, still in the same tank top and sweats I passed out in. "What time is it?"

"Almost nine." She pours a second cup of coffee and slides it across the counter to me. "You slept hard."

"I needed it," I murmur, wrapping my hands around the mug, letting the warmth seep into my fingers.

She studies me for a moment, and I see the question flicker behind her eyes—unasked, but there. Instead, she gestures toward the bar stools. "Sit. I made toast."

I chuckle softly. "A true gourmet."

She grins. "Only the best for my surprise overnight guests."

I sit, sipping the coffee slowly. The silence between us is easy, comfortable in the way it only can be with someone who's known your sharp edges and didn't flinch.

"I meant to ask," she says after a beat. "Do you still get stage nerves?"

I nod. "All the time. It's like... I don't even know if it's nerves or adrenaline. But it never really goes away."

"Do you ever think about walking away from it?"

I pause, fingers tracing the rim of the mug. "Sometimes. But then I sing, and it's like—everything else fades out. It's the only time I don't feel like I have to prove anything."

Stefani hums in agreement, sipping her coffee. "You don't have to prove anything to me, you know."

I look at her. She's not teasing, not deflecting. Just quiet and honest.

"I know," I say, just as softly.

We eat in silence for a bit, the toast slightly burnt but still edible. Outside the window, the city begins to stir—distant traffic, a dog barking, life moving forward.

And for a moment, sitting there with her, the day stretching out in front of me, I forget to be anxious. I forget the pressure, the loneliness, the ache that had crept into my bones last night.

The clock on the wall reads a little after ten, and the apartment is still quiet. Stefani's lingering smile and the warmth of the morning sun have made everything feel a little more alive, a little easier to breathe through. The kind of moment that feels timeless.

I sip the last of my coffee, letting it settle in my stomach, but something's starting to nag at the back of my mind. Rehearsal today... but no, that's not right. I'm just teaching today.

I glance up at Stefani, who's looking out the window, lost in thought. I half-expect her to make a comment about how long I'm staying here, but she doesn't. She turns to me instead, her eyes wide and curious, like she's about to ask something she's been holding back.

"Are you teaching today?" she asks casually, though there's a certain undertone of curiosity.

"Yeah," I say, stretching my arms overhead, feeling my muscles pull with the motion. "Contemporary choreography to Open Hands. It's for a class I've been teaching."

"Can I come?" she asks, voice tentative but with a hint of something else—something eager, almost excited.

I blink, caught off guard for a second. "You want to do my class?" I laugh softly. "That's—sure, I guess so. But don't expect me to go easy on you."

She smirks at that, folding her arms across her chest, leaning back slightly. "I'm sure I'll manage."

I tilt my head, watching her. There's something about the way she looks at me sometimes, a way she seems to study me like she's trying to figure me out, one piece at a time. It's both disarming and comforting, all at once.

"I could use a bit of an audience today," I admit, shrugging. "I'm definitely feeling the pressure for opening night coming up. It's... hard to stay grounded sometimes, y'know?"

Stefani's expression softens, her eyes narrowing just slightly as she nods. "Yeah, I get that. I'm sure it'll be great, though. You've got this."

I look at her, considering for a moment. "You don't have to come, you know. I don't want you to feel like you have to."

She holds up a hand. "No, I want to. I've been wanting to see you in action." She pauses, a small smile creeping onto her lips. "And I think it'll be fun. Plus, I've never seen you teach before."

I raise an eyebrow at her, chuckling. "You're really determined, aren't you?"

She nods with that playful grin. "I am."

"Alright, fine," I say, standing up and stretching my arms above my head. "But no judging if I'm terrible today. You've been warned."

Her smile widens. "I'll keep my thoughts to myself."

We both quickly dress in separate rooms and return to the living room to leave.

I grab my bag, tossing my keys and phone inside before walking toward the door. Stefani follows behind me, and I glance back at her as we step into the hallway.

"You sure you're up for this?" I ask, teasing her a little. "I'm not exactly the kind of teacher who holds back."

She grins, her eyes sparkling with mischief. "Bring it on."

I shake my head, laughing softly as we step outside and head toward the elevator. The weight of the day hasn't fully hit me yet, but with Stefani's easy presence beside me, it feels manageable. We're together in the quiet, and for now, that's all that matters.

The elevator doors open, and I step inside, my stomach buzzing with a mix of anticipation and nerves. As we descend toward the lobby, I glance over at Stefani, who's silently watching me with an expression I can't quite place.

"Okay, okay," I say, turning to her with a smirk. "I'm not that scary, right?"

She looks over at me, a playful smile dancing on her lips. "I'm not scared, don't worry."

"Good," I reply, laughing. "'Cause I think you're gonna get a real crash course in contemporary dance today."

Stefani leans against the elevator wall, a small laugh escaping her. "I'm ready."

As the doors open to the lobby, I step out into the light, leading the way as we make our way toward the street. Today might be full of little distractions, but I can't help feeling a little lighter with Stefani by my side.