Page 40 of Smoke Signals

Then I feel it, a second weight settled beside me—warm, solid, undeniably real—and my eyes open slowly. When my vision finally clears, the first thing I register is that Stellan is still here.

He’s on his back, one arm bent under his head, the other resting loosely across his stomach. The early light slipping through the blinds cuts across his chest and shoulder, catching the faint shadow of stubble along his jaw.

I go still, the weight of it almost too much.

This actually happened.

Last night wasn’t a panic spiral, a half dream, or something I invented because I wanted it too badly. He’s here, in my bed, in my apartment, breathing slowly and even like he belongs in this space.

I stay still, afraid that if I move too fast, I’ll wake him and the spell will break.

I swallow and my mouth tastes like sleep and nerves. My brain starts catching up in pieces. We talked, kissed, and crossed that invisible line I’ve been pacing for weeks.

My alarm hasn’t gone off yet, which means Alaska is still asleep down the hall. The thought lands heavy and immediate.

Reality is back.

This isn’t just two men in a bed pretending or having a good time. There’s a little girl twenty feet away who lines up her crayons and watches my face.

I turn my head slowly and look at Stellan again.

He’s still asleep.

He doesn’t look guarded the way he usually does when he’s awake. Right now he just looks tired, human, and younger than he does when he’s standing in my kitchen acting like he’s got everything under control.

My chest does something strange.

Last night didn’t feel reckless.

That’s the part I keep circling.

It should have.

It should have felt like jumping off something without checking how far the drop was. Instead it felt like stepping into warm water, slow and careful, testing each inch before committing my whole body. He never rushed me or pushed. Every time I hesitated he slowed down, like my comfort mattered more than whatever he wanted.

I shift slightly under the blankets, and the mattress dips.

Stellan’s breathing changes, and his eyes open. They’re unfocused at first, that hazy half second where someone hasn’t fully re-entered their body yet, then they land on me and sharpen. There’s no confusion in his expression, just recognition and something soft underneath it.

“Morning,” he murmurs, voice rough with sleep.

The sound of it slides straight down my spine.

“Morning,” I say back, my voice quieter than I intended.

We just look at each other for a second.

“You okay?” he asks.

“Yeah,” I say, and then I shake my head slightly because honesty feels like the only option now. “I mean. I’m… a lot of things. But I’m not freaked out.”

One corner of his mouth lifts. “I’ll take that as a win.”

I laugh.

The blanket shifts when he moves his arm, careful with his shoulder even now. His eyes flick to mine, and he gives a small shrug that’s more expression than motion.

“Still there,” he says.