Forty One
Tilly woke to weight.
Not heavy. Not uncomfortable. Just present. Savannah curled into their chest, warm and solid, her breathing slow and even. One of Tilly’s arms was looped around her middle, familiar enough now that they didn’t remember deciding to put it there.
They stayed still.
Savannah slept like she meant it, loose and unguarded in a way that told Tilly more than anything she’d said the night before. Her hand was tucked between them, fingers slack, the blanket pulled high around her shoulders where Tilly had left it.
Good.
Tilly adjusted their grip slightly, more instinct than thought, keeping their arm steady when Savannah shifted in her sleep. She made a small sound, barely audible, and settled again.
Tilly exhaled and let their eyes close for another second.
Mornings usually came with a mental checklist. Time. Plans. What needed to be done next? Today, there was none of that urgency. Just Savannah breathing against them and the quiet hum of the room starting to wake.
They noticed the change before she did. The way her breathing shifted. The faint tension that came and went in her shoulders as she hovered between sleep and waking.
Tilly didn’t rush it.
When Savannah stirred, she was careful. Like she was testing the ground before committing her weight. Tilly kept their arm where it was, loose and unmistakably there.
She shifted again, closer this time.
Tilly tipped their chin down, resting it lightly against the top of Savannah’s head.
They stayed where they were, arm steady, breathing slow.
Savannah didn’t pull away.
Savannah shifted again, her forehead nudging lightly against Tilly’s chest.
“Mm,” she murmured, the sound soft and indistinct. Her fingers curled slightly where they rested between them.
Tilly stayed still.
A second passed. Then Savannah spoke again, voice low and slurred with sleep. “Morning.”
It barely sounded like a word. More like a habit she hadn’t meant to share yet.
Tilly’s mouth twitched before they could stop it. They kept their arm where it was. “Morning,” they said quietly.
Savannah exhaled, slow and warm against their skin. She didn’t open her eyes. Didn’t pull back. Just settled more fully into the space she was already in.
“Hi,” she added after a beat, softer this time, like she was checking.
Tilly answered just as softly. “Hey.”
Savannah nodded once, the movement small and drowsy, and went still again. Her breathing evened out, the edges of sleep still clinging to her.
Savannah shifted again, this time awake enough that the movement felt intentional. Her bare knee brushed against Tilly’s thigh under the blanket, and she stilled immediately, like she’d only just remembered herself.
“We should talk,” she said. Clearer now.
Tilly felt the old, familiar tightening in their chest. Not panic. Not anger exactly. Just the reflex of bracing for an ending that came disguised as honesty.
They didn’t move their arm. “Okay.”
Savannah was quiet for a second. “I don’t mean talk like…” She made a small, helpless gesture against their chest. “Like we have to solve everything. I just don’t want to pretend last night was nothing.”
Tilly stared at the ceiling. The light coming in through the blinds was thin and gray, early morning doing what it always did, showing things without asking permission.
“I’m still hurt,” they said.
Savannah went still.
“From the hotel,” Tilly continued, voice even, but the words were tight in their throat. “You left. You didn’t say why. And then you came back as if nothing had happened. Like I wasn’t supposed to feel some kind of way about it.”
Savannah swallowed. “I know.”
Tilly waited, but she didn’t rush to fill the silence. Good. That was new.
“I panicked,” Savannah said finally. “Not because of you. Because of me. I didn’t know how to sit with what I was feeling, and I thought if I stayed, I’d say or do something that would make it worse.”
“It still made it worse,” Tilly said quietly.
“I know,” Savannah repeated, softer. “And then I didn’t know how to fix it, so I avoided it. Which I’m learning is kind of my worst move.”
That earned a quiet huff from Tilly. Not a laugh. But close.
“Yeah,” they said. “It is.”
Savannah shifted, careful now, like she was aware of every place they touched. She didn’t pull away. She also didn’t assume closeness would smooth things over.
“I’m not asking you to just… get over it,” she said. “I just needed you to know that when I left, it wasn’t because I didn’t care. It was because I cared and didn’t trust myself not to run my mouth or my life.”
Tilly let that sit.
Their arm tightened slightly around her, not a comfort gesture so much as a grounding one. “I don’t need you to have it all figured out,” they said. “But I do need you to stay when things get hard. Or at least tell me you’re leaving.”
Savannah nodded against them. “That’s fair.”
She was quiet again, then added, “I don’t want this to turn into another thing where I disappear when it stops being easy.”
That one landed.
Tilly finally looked down at her. Savannah’s eyes were open now, searching their face, unguarded in a way that made something in Tilly ache.
“I don’t want to be punished for being careful,” Savannah said. “But I also don’t want to keep hurting you by accident.”
“You already did,” Tilly said. Not unkindly. Just honest. “But this is better than pretending.”
Savannah exhaled, long and shaky. “Okay.”
They lay there for a moment, the blanket warm, Savannah still naked beneath it, Tilly still half-dressed, neither of them making a move to change that. It felt like an honest representation of where they were.
“Can I ask you something?” Savannah said.
Tilly nodded. “Yeah.”
“When you were distant after… was that you trying not to care?”
“No,” Tilly said immediately. “That was me trying not to get hurt again.”
Savannah closed her eyes briefly at that. “I’m sorry.”
“I know,” Tilly said. “And I’m not asking for perfection. I just need consistency.”
Savannah nodded. “I can try.”
Tilly considered her for a long moment. Then: “Trying counts.”
Savannah relaxed slightly at that, like she’d been holding herself too tightly.
They stayed there, the conversation ebbing naturally, not solved but settled enough for now. Tilly kept their arm where it was. Savannah didn’t pull away.
They stayed there for another moment, the quiet settled between them, not tense anymore. Just present.
Then Tilly shifted.
Not pulling away. Just enough to tilt their head down. Savannah looked up automatically, like she was waiting to see what came next.
Tilly pressed a quick kiss to her temple.
Savannah blinked.
Then another, lighter one to her cheek. And another, closer to the corner of her mouth, careless in a way that felt deliberate.
“Hey,” Savannah said, a laugh sneaking into her voice despite herself. “What are you doing?”
Tilly shrugged, lips brushing her skin again. “Resetting.”
“That’s not a thing.”
“Feels like a thing,” Tilly said, kissing her again, softer this time. “Hold still.”
Savannah huffed a laugh and tried to squirm away, immediately thwarted by Tilly’s arm tightening just enough to keep her there. Not trapped. Just held.
“No,” Savannah protested weakly, laughter breaking through now. “You can’t just—”
Tilly kissed the tip of her nose.
Savannah dissolved, giggling outright, face heating. She buried it against Tilly’s chest, shaking her head. “You’re ridiculous.”
Tilly smiled against her hair. “You don’t hate it.”
“I absolutely do not hate it,” Savannah admitted, muffled. Then, quieter, “Thank you.”
Tilly didn’t answer with words. Just kissed her hair once, slow and grounding, and settled back against the pillows.
Savannah stayed tucked into them, still smiling, the last of the tension finally bleeding off.