Page 180 of Ex Somnis

And I’m awake.

I hold a hand in front of my eyes to check.

Five normal fingers.

The warmth at my back is real, as is the arm slung heavy across my middle. There’s an exhale against the back of my neck that smells like Paul’s brand of soap and absolutely nothing else in the world.

I look around for Mr. Muffin. The actual Mr. Muffin, not the homicidal dream version, and Paul pulls me closer.

I hum automatically, already planning to turn around and bury my face in his chest for at least another ten minutes.

Possibly forever.

But then my phone rings again.

“If that’s Ridge,” Paul mumbles into my hair, voice rough with sleep. “I’m going to go downstairs and strangle him.”

I smile.

“And then,” he continues. “Once he passes out, I’m going to visit his subconscious and do it again. For consistency.”

“No, you won’t.”

His arm tightens. “Probably not.”

“Definitely not.”

“Fine. I’ll mildly inconvenience him.”

“That sounds more like you,” I say, reaching for my phone.

Of course, it’s charged.

Of course, there’s a glass of water beside it waiting for me.

Of course.

“God, Lennon,” Paul murmurs against my shoulder. “I love waking up next to you.”

My heart immediately forgets how to function.

“Same,” I whisper, then I blink at the screen. Derek.

“Wrong Wells,” I mutter as I answer it. “Hey, I’m sorry. I⁠—”

“That’s him?” Derek cuts in, sounding breathless. “That was This Man?”

Yep. Straight to the nightmare fuel.

“No good morning?” I joke, but the only answer I get is silence, long enough that I can hear him breathing.

“Hey.” I sit up, dragging the blanket with me. Paul immediately follows, one hand finding the small of my back. “Don’t do the thing.”

“What thing?” Derek asks.

“The Derek thing.”

“Helpful.”