The first thing he felt was warmth.
Not sunlight. Not the weight of blankets. But him, the man beside him, solid and steady, heavy arm draped protectively over his waist like it had never moved. Like he'd stayed there the entire night, anchored by the knot that had long since dissolved, but whose imprint remained beneath Lucas's skin.
Lucas didn't open his eyes right away.
His body was sore.
Not in the panicked, wrong kind of way but in the aftermath kind, like he'd been split apart and rebuilt from the inside out. His thighs ached dully, a lingering throb deep between them that flared when he shifted even slightly. The bite at his nape burned in slow pulses, bandaged now, padded with something soft and medical-grade. Trevor, of course. Lucas barely remembered getting out of the bath, let alone collapsing in bed.
He was dressed in loose sleep pants and one of Trevor's shirts, oversized and familiar, carrying his scent in every thread. He definitely hadn't put it on himself.
