I don't know how long I'm out, but when I wake again, everything feels … different. There's something—no, someone—close.
A warm breath brushes against my cheek. I open my eyes slowly, blinking through a film of sleep, and—
Noah's face is right there. Inches away. So close, I can see the shape of his lashes, the subtle way they cast shadows on his cheek. His eyes are focused, surprised, caught mid-thought. Like he wasn't expecting me to wake just yet.
He doesn't move. Doesn't back away.
Neither do I.
My breath hitches.
His hair is loose, slightly mussed. One strand falls forward, brushing his brow. He looks softer like this. Not quite the composed, elusive Noah I first met. There's a gentleness in his face that I haven't seen before. Something quiet. Careful.
I realize suddenly that his hand is near my face. Maybe he brushed something away? Maybe it was nothing. Or maybe it was everything.
He still hasn't moved. Neither have I.
