The Day Stayed and Mark Twain 197

Chapter 197

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Zayn.

His chest pressed against my back, steady and warm. Ilis breath brushed the back of my neck in slow, even waves. I didn’t move at first. I just lay there, eyes still closed, letting the safety of it sink in. The weight of his arm. The heat of his skin. The softness of the

blanket pooled around our legs.

After everything we’d been through–after the fear, the dark, the screaming beneath the floor–the simple quiet felt unreal.

Eventually, he shifted. His nose brushed lightly against my shoulders he inhaled, waking up.

“You’re still here,” he murmured, voice thick with sleep.

“So are you,” I whispered back, turning just enough to glimpse his face–hair messy, eyes half–open, lips soft with exhaustion.

His fingers flexed at my hip, like he needed the reminder that I was real. “Good,” he breathed, pulling me a little closer. “I thought

maybe I dreamt you.”

I smiled, small and tired. “I’m definitely not a dream.”

His eyes lifted to mine, slow and unfocused. “I know,” he said softly. Dreams don’t hold on like this.”

He pressed his forehead to the back

of my shoulder, exhaling a long steady breath. I felt it warm against my skin.

Zayn’s breath warmed a slow path along my shoulder, his arm still wrapped around my waist like it belonged there. For a while, neither of us spoke. There was no urgency, no rush, just the quiet hum of two people who had survived something together and didn’t quite know how to step back into the normal world yet.

Eventually, he shifted again, nuzzling just beneath my ear–not a kiss, not really, just a lazy morning touch. “What time is it?” he

mumbled.

I opened my eyes fully this time, blinking toward the faint light slipping through the curtains. “Late,” I said. “Maybe… noon?”

He groaned into my shoulder. “Good. I don’t care.”

I laughed softly, the sound muffled against the pillow. “We should probably get up at some point.”

“No,” he said immediately, tightening his grip. “Five more minutes.”

“You said that in the forest,” I teased.

“That was different,” he murmured. “You were freezing. Now you’re warm.”

I felt warmth creep up my neck. “Zayn…”

He hummed. A soft, content sound. “I’m not doing anything.”

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“You’re definitely doing something,” I said, wriggling just a little.

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His arm slipped higher, fingers sliding around my ribs, his thumb brushing the fabric of my shirt in slow, idle strokes that made my stomach flutter. “I’m holding you,” he corrected, voice still gravelly om sleep. “That’s allowed.”

I swallowed, trying and failing to calm the sudden burst of electricity under my skin. “It’s… nice.”

He didn’t answer with words. Instead, he pulled me closer, resting his chin on my shoulder so he could look past me, out toward the

dim light.

A long, quiet moment stretched.

Then he spoke, voice softer than I’d ever heard it.

“Aurora,” he said. “About yesterday.”

I turned in his arms, just enough so I could see his face. His eyes were awake now. Clear. Focused.

No teasing. No heat.

Just Zayn.

“I keep thinking about it,” he murmured. “The cabin. The forest. Losing track of time. Waking up and not knowing what day it was.

It shouldn’t be possible.”

“I know,” I whispered. “But it happened.”

His hand slid up my spine, slow and thoughtful. “I’m not trying to figure it out,” he said. “Not right this second. I just… don’t like that you went through that. That you were scared. That I wasn’t-” He cut himself off, jaw clenching briefly. “I hated it.”

“Zayn…” I reached up, brushing my fingers through the messy strands of his hair. “You were there. You didn’t leave me. That’s what

matters.”

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