April
Golden sun streamed through floor-to-ceiling windows, and for a disorienting moment she had no idea where she was or how she'd gotten here.
Then she registered the warmth beneath her cheek. The steady rise and fall of breathing. The arm wrapped around her waist.
She was lying on top of someone.
Not beside someone. On top of someone, like a very heavy blanket that had gained sentience.
April blinked, lifted her head a fraction.
Mateo.
He was awake. Watching her with warm eyes and a smile, like this was the most normal morning in the world.
"Good morning, Bellissima."
He'd stayed.
Her arms pulled him tighter, sunk into him a little more.
The others had probably slipped out quietly in the night. It was Wednesday. People had jobs and lives and responsibilities.
Last night had been… whatever it had been. Fun. Unexpected. The kind of thing that felt exhilarating at 2 AM and slightly embarrassing by morning. She'd known it was temporary. It still hurt a little.
"Morning," April managed, voice rough with sleep. "Did I…how did I get here?"
"You fell asleep," Mateo said, smoothing a hand down her hair. "Arthur carried you."
Right. The house. The night. The food. The laughing. The fact that she'd spent last night with eight men like she'd tripped and fallen into an alternate reality.
Everyone else had logged out of whatever alternate dimension yesterday had been and gone back to their actual lives.
Mateo had stayed to make sure she found the exit. Which was sweet.
April let herself sink into the warmth of him, the steady rhythm of his breathing, the way his hand moved through her hair like he had all the time in the world and planned to spend it exactly like this.
Mateo shifted like he was about to get up.
"I should get you food," he said. "You must be—"
April's hand shot out and grabbed his shirt, making her body heavy.
"Stay."
He froze, eyes flicking to hers. "April—"
"Just—" April swallowed. "Please."
Mateo's expression softened, he settled back down without argument, pulled her closer, and pressed a kiss to the top of her head.
"Okay," he murmured. "I'll stay."
April settled back into his warmth, clinging to this borrowed peace, a soft, warm island where nothing else existed.
Then she saw it. Unsouled, the worn copy from Killian's library, dog-eared and soft-spined from being read and reread, sitting on the nightstand.
He'd told her to keep it last night, pressed it into her hands like it mattered.
She'd lost track of it somewhere between the couch and falling asleep, and someone had found it and left it where she'd see it.
A goodbye.
April buried her face against Mateo's chest, and his hand smoothed her hair.
Eventually, she'd have to get up. Eventually, she'd have to face whatever came next.
But for now, Mateo was here, warm and solid beneath her, and she could pretend for one more minute that the world outside this bed didn't exist.
April let herself stay there. Let herself breathe. Let herself exist in a world reduced to steady lungs and the faint, ridiculous comfort of Mateo smelling like he'd been born at a hearth and decided to bring that warmth with him everywhere.
When April finally pulled back, he was smiling at her.
"Okay," she said. "I'm ready."
"For food?"
"For reality."
She rolled her shoulders back and eased herself off him.
She didn't ask where the others were. She wasn't going to make it weird. She'd get coffee and go.
He kissed her once, then helped her sit up like it mattered that she didn't wobble.
Her hair was a disaster. Her dress was... somewhere. She was wearing someone's shirt, big enough to be Arthur's.
She looked like someone who'd had too much and not enough at the same time. Dream dust still clinging to her, wistful and grateful for something already slipping away.
The fever had broken. This was the thermometer reading normal again.
Mateo stood and offered his hand. "Come on. Let's get you fed."
April took it. Let him pull her to her feet. She reached for the book, tucked it under her arm like proof that last night had been real.
Breakfast. Coffee. Then she'd figure out how to get home. Maybe someone had left her dress somewhere.
Or she'd seen this, walk-of-shame hack video where you pulled the collar down around your chest and knotted the sleeves at your waist like a belt, and somehow made borrowed-shirt-morning-after look like a magazine spread. Arthur's shirt was certainly long enough to pass as a dress.
She could do that.
Probably.
They walked through the hallway together. The house quiet, that specific morning-after quiet where silence had a shape, like someone had taken all the noise from last night and packed it away in boxes and left only the outline of where it used to be.
They turned the corner.
Voices drifted down the hallway.
Multiple voices.
April stopped walking.
Wait.
She looked at Mateo. He was smiling like he'd been waiting for this exact moment.
April's heart kicked hard against her ribs.
She picked up speed, each step faster than the last, Mateo keeping pace beside her.
She stepped into the doorway and froze.
They were all still here.
Every single one of them.