“You’re bossy,” I mumbled, voice muffled against my sleeve.
“You’re stubborn,” he shot back easily, flashing me a grin. “But I like you anyway.”
My lips tugged into a small, tired smile.
He set a plate in front of me, poked a fork into the pad thai, and held it out.
“Eat.”
I giggled softly, pushing his hand away. “I can feed myself.”
“Humor me.”
I let him.
We sat like that — him perched across from me, feeding me noodles, cracking quiet jokes, brushing his thumb over the back of my hand every so often like he couldn’t stand not touching me.
It was soft.
It was healing.
It was everything I didn’t know I needed.
---
By the time the clock edged past midnight, I was curled under a blanket on the couch, head resting in his lap, eyes fluttering shut as he stroked my hair.
Jasper hadn’t come home.
Corinne had texted to check in, bless her.
But none of it mattered in that moment. Not the press, not the cameras, not the election. Not even the storm outside.
Just his fingers in my hair, his breath warm on my skin, the quiet sound of his voice as he murmured half-sung lyrics under his breath.
“Did you know,” I whispered drowsily, “that you’re the only one who makes me feel safe?”
Ace’s hand paused, then resumed its slow strokes.
“Yeah,” he murmured, voice rough. “I know, baby.”
I smiled sleepily. “Don’t let me go, okay?”
“Never.”
My heart cracked open and poured itself into his hands.
And as I drifted into sleep, cocooned in his arms, I realized —
this was what love felt like.
Not the loud, blinding, cinematic kind.
But the quiet kind.
The steady kind.
The kind that stayed.
