Our irony

The first thing Nat registered as she drifted toward consciousness was warmth. Not the kind that came from blankets, but something steadier, something alive.

The second thing she noticed was the soft weight beside her.

Her eyelids fluttered open slightly, vision blurry with sleep. The dim glow from the bedside lamp cast gentle shadows over the room, making everything feel softer, quieter. She shifted slightly, her body sore, heavy with exhaustion—but safe.

And then she saw Billie.

She was sitting up against the headboard, arms crossed over her chest, head tilted slightly downward, eyes closed.

Nat's breath hitched.

She stayed.

A lump formed in her throat, and she swallowed hard. She didn't know why it hit her so hard. Maybe it was because she had spent so many nights alone, convincing herself she didn't need anyone. Maybe it was because, deep down, she had always wanted someone to stay, to just be there—without being asked, without being obligated.

And Billie had.

Nat let her eyes roam over Billie's face, taking in the faint crease in her brow, the way her breathing was soft, steady. Billie had never been the kind of person to sit still for too long. She was always in motion—her mind, her hands, her energy constantly shifting, always somewhere between here and somewhere else.

But here she was now. Still.

Because of Nat.

A sudden warmth spread through her chest, one she didn't quite know how to name.

She wanted to reach out, to brush a piece of hair from Billie's face, to confirm that she was real, that she was here. But something stopped her. Maybe it was fear, or maybe it was something even deeper, something she wasn't ready to face.

Instead, she closed her eyes again, letting herself sink back into the comfort of the moment, the steady sound of Billie's breathing lulling her back to sleep.

And just before she drifted off completely, she thought—just for a second—that she had heard Billie whisper something.

Something soft. Something that sounded a lot like a confession.

But then sleep pulled her under again, and the words slipped away before she could catch them.

Nat stirred awake slowly, the heaviness of sleep still clinging to her limbs. The room was quiet, the air warm, cocooning her in a stillness she hadn't felt in a long time.

Then she felt it—someone beside her.

Blinking, she turned her head, and her breath caught in her throat.

Billie was still there.

This time, she wasn't sitting upright. Sometime in the night, she had shifted, sliding down until she was curled up beside Nat, her arm draped lazily across the space between them. Her face was relaxed, free of the usual guarded expressions she wore when she was awake.

Nat swallowed hard, her heart tightening in a way that was both terrifying and comforting all at once.

She had heard something last night—had felt something—but she had been too tired, too lost in sleep to hold onto it. Now, in the quiet morning, with Billie so close, she couldn't ignore the way her own heart responded.

This wasn't just gratitude. It wasn't just relief.

It was something deeper. Something she had tried so hard to push away, to bury under layers of self-preservation.

But Billie had stayed. She had fought for her, held her through the worst of it, chased away the nightmares without even knowing how much she meant to Nat.

And that meant something.

No—it meant everything.

Her fingers twitched against the sheets, aching to reach out, to touch. Instead, she inhaled sharply, steadying herself.

"I think I love you," she whispered.

The words felt like a secret she hadn't even admitted to herself until now. They spilled from her lips before she could stop them, before she could shove them back down where they had been hiding.

But Billie didn't react.

Because Billie was still asleep.

Nat let out a quiet, breathless laugh, shaking her head.

Of course.

Of course this would happen.

She exhaled slowly, staring at Billie's peaceful face, wondering if she should feel relieved or disappointed that she hadn't heard.

Maybe it was better this way. Maybe she wasn't ready for the weight of those words when Billie was awake to hear them.

But still...

She let her fingers lightly brush Billie's wrist where it rested against the bed between them. Just for a second. Just to remind herself that this was real. That Billie had stayed.

Then she closed her eyes again, deciding, just for a little while longer, to stay in this moment—before the world woke up and everything became complicated again.