Page 73 of Picture Perfect

"Comfortable?" Gen's voice slices through the quiet.

"Surprisingly," I whisper back, finding the softness of Dre's borrowed shirt against my skin oddly soothing.

"Goodnight then, Addy."

"Night, Gen."

My breathing slows, matching the rhythm of the silent house, and sleep claims me with an ease I've never known before. For once, the nightmares don't chase me into slumber. Instead, there's just peace—a rare, fragile thing that I cling to even in unconsciousness.

I'm not sure what pulls me from the depths of sleep—maybe it's instinct or the shift in the air. But suddenly, I'm awake, and there's warmth pressed against my back, a solid presence that makes my heart jolt with panic. A hand rests lightly on my waist, and my breath catches.

The panic evaporates as quickly as it came, replaced by recognition. Chess's scent is familiar, a mix of mint and something uniquely him. It's comforting, grounding. I don't move; I don't want to disturb this precarious balance we've found.

"Fuck you," Dre's hushed tone carries a hint of irritation. "Why do you get to sleep with her?"

"I got here first," Chess murmurs back, the vibration of his words resonating against my back. “Means I get dibs on snuggle duty."

Dre retorts in a low growl.

"Guys, seriously?" Gen's sleepy mumble breaks through their whisper argument.

"Sorry," they mutter almost in unison, and the room falls into silence once more.

I lie there, the tension from their exchange dissipating into the night. The presence of Chess behind me, steadfast and protective, lulls me back towards sleep. As I drift off, I realize this is what safety feels like—not just the absence of threat, but the presence of allies. It's new, it's strange, but for the first time in forever, it's mine.

I just hope it's real.

Chapter thirty-five

Addy

Sunlight spills through half-drawn curtains, casting a warm glow across the room. I stir, groggy and disoriented from the deep sleep that had claimed me. The first sensation that registers is weight—an arm draped over my waist, a leg tangled with mine. Chess is still curled up behind me, his breath steady against the nape of my neck.

"Morning," I murmur, not daring to move too much.

"Mmm," Chess hums, his voice thick with sleep.

I crane my neck to peek at the room and catch sight of Dre sprawled at the foot, one arm slung over his eyes as if to shield them from the light. His tattoos seem softer in the morning's gentle illumination, less like battle scars and more like art. The pattern of raised skin they cover glints in the daylight.

"That can't be comfortable, Dre," I tease quietly, hoping to ease into the day with a bit of humor.

"Wouldn't say that," Dre mumbles, removing his arm to squint at us. A lazy smile pulls at his lips. "Got a hell of a view from down here."

My cheeks warm at his words, but before I can think of a comeback, movement catches my eye. Saint's presence is almost unnoticeable in the corner, dark curls tousled from what must have been an uncomfortable night in a chair. He doesn't sleep like the others; there's an alertness to him even now, his jaw set in that familiar hard line.

Gen's voice cuts in, laced with sarcasm as she sits up, her hair a wild mess. "Why do I even bother locking the door? It's like living in a frat house."

"You knew locks weren't gonna keep me away from my snowflake," Dre quips, winking at Gen.

"Shut it, Roberts," Gen tosses back, though the corners of her mouth twitch upwards.

We're all awake now, the remnants of sleep quickly fading. The familiarity between us feels both thrilling and terrifying. This isn't just another morning; it's a threshold of something new, something undefined but palpable.

Gen claps her hands, punctuating the silence. "Who's up for breakfast?"

As we each begin to untangle ourselves from the heap we ended up in, I realize that despite everything, I'm looking forward to what the day might bring.

??????

---