A soft sound escaped Ronan's throat, surprising even himself. Embarrassed, he shifted, but Riven's hand came down, warm and sure, resting behind one ear.
"Don't move," Riven whispered. "I like touching your ears, just like you like to touch mine."
Ronan opened his eyes, just a little, enough to look up.
Riven was smiling.
It wasn't the sly smile he often wore in the waking world. No, this was something different—tender and calm, with a warmth that made Ronan's chest ache.
The wind rustled the leaves above them. Birds chirped lazily in the distance.
The soft breeze in the dream faded. Riven's warmth dissolved into mist, and Ronan stirred.
His eyes blinked open, only to meet the emptiness of his dimly lit bedroom. No meadow. No tree. No Riven. Just the lingering ache of something that had never truly been his.
Ronan let out a shaky breath.
