Ava's pov-
I woke up to warmth.
Not the kind you get from a blanket or the sun. The kind that wraps around you, anchors you, makes you feel... safe.
My face was pressed against something solid and warm — someone. And I knew before I even opened my eyes.
Dada.
I blinked sleepily, eyes adjusting to the soft light streaming in from the tall windows. His room smelled like cedar and cologne and something darker I couldn't name. I was wrapped in his arms, completely caged in — like he hadn't let go once all night.
I was drooling. Just a little.
On his shirt.
Oh no.
My hair, which reached down to my knees when it wasn't braided, was sprawled everywhere — across the pillow, tangled around both of us, curling in strands around his fingers where he'd fallen asleep holding me.
I tilted my head slowly, careful not to wake him.
He looked... tired. Even in sleep. Brow slightly furrowed. Lips parted just the tiniest bit. There were faint red marks on his knuckles. His sleeves were rolled up. I could see the bandage near his wrist — fresh.
He must've been hurt again.
A soft ache bloomed in my chest.
I touched his cheek with my fingertips, barely grazing it. "Dada…"
He stirred but didn't open his eyes. His grip on me tightened, protective even in dreams. "Back to sleep, baby," he murmured, voice rough. "You're safe."
I bit my lip.
"I drooled on your shirt."
"Mmm," he breathed out, finally cracking an eye open. "You always do."
I pouted.
He lifted a hand, gently brushing a strand of hair from my cheek. "You waited for me last night."
"You were late."
"I came back."
A pause.
My throat tightened. "You always come back."
He nodded once. "Always."
I didn't realize I was crying until he caught a tear on the pad of his thumb.
Then he kissed my forehead, long and slow and grounding.
And in that moment, wrapped up in silk sheets and the scent of smoke and safety, I let myself believe — just for a little longer — that maybe forever was real. That maybe I wasn't too much. Too loud. Too clingy. Too loving.
Maybe I was just enough.
For him.