The first light of dawn filtered through the curtains of their bedroom, casting a soft, golden glow over the tangled sheets. Jack hadn't slept much—maybe an hour, in fits and starts—his arm a steady anchor around Felix's small frame. Felix was curled against him like a kitten, face buried in the crook of Jack's neck, one leg thrown possessively over Jack's hip. His long blond hair fanned out across the pillow, freckles stark against skin that was still too pale, and those big brown eyes remained closed in fragile sleep. Jack watched him, thumb tracing idle circles on Felix's back, careful to avoid the bruised areas. The events of the night repyed in his mind like a nightmare he couldn't shake: the reunion, the horrors revealed, the stitches, the dream. But Felix was here, breathing steadily, and that was enough to keep Jack grounded.

  As the clock ticked toward 8 AM, Jack's phone buzzed on the nightstand—a text from Mia: Cops calling soon. Breakfast? We're here. He reached for it carefully, but the movement stirred Felix. Those big eyes fluttered open, hazy with sleep and something darker—fear. Felix's hand shot out, gripping Jack's shirt in a white-knuckled fist.

  "No," Felix mumbled, voice thick and petunt, his bratty edge peeking through despite everything. "Don't move. Stay."

  Jack set the phone down immediately, turning to face him fully. "Morning, baby. Just checking a message. I'm right here."

  Felix's lip quivered, and he scooted closer, pressing his entire body flush against Jack's—chest to chest, legs entwining. The oversized shirt had ridden up during the night, and Jack could feel the warmth of Felix's bare skin, the faint tremble in his thighs. "Promise? Don't leave me. Not even for a second."

  "I promise," Jack whispered, kissing the top of Felix's head. His heart ached at the vulnerability; this wasn't the confident, quick-to-anger Felix who teased him mercilessly or started pyful arguments over stupid things like pizza toppings. This was raw, stripped-down need. "Not going anywhere. We can stay in bed all day if you want."

  Felix nodded against his shoulder, but his grip didn't loosen. "All day. No getting up. No... no hospital or cops or anything. Just us."

  Jack hesitated. The pns they'd hashed out with the friends st night—statements to the police, a check-up at the clinic for infections or worse—loomed rge. But he could see the exhaustion in Felix's posture, the way his body tensed at the mere mention of leaving the bed. "Okay, love. We'll take it slow. But Mia and the others are worried. Maybe I can text them to come in here?"

  "No!" Felix's voice sharpened, a fsh of his old fire. He lifted his head, big brown eyes narrowing in that bratty gre Jack knew so well. "Just you. They... they saw too much already. And what if you leave while I'm sleeping? What if it's all a dream and you're gone when I wake up?"

  Jack cupped Felix's freckled cheek, thumb brushing away a stray tear. "Hey, brat. Look at me." Felix did, reluctantly, his confidence cracking under the weight of trauma. "I'm real. This is real. And yeah, it sucked having Alex help st night, but he kept you safe. Same as me. But if you want just us today, that's what we get. I'll handle the friends from here."

  A small nod, and Felix settled back, but not before stealing a kiss—soft, lingering, his lips tasting faintly of salt. It was a quiet affirmation, a way of grounding himself in Jack's presence. They y like that for the next hour, Jack's hand roaming soothingly over Felix's side, avoiding the sore spots but tracing the curve of his hip, the dip of his waist. Felix sighed contentedly, arching just a little into the touch, his body remembering the safety of their old intimacies even if his mind rebelled against anything more.

  By 9 AM, the apartment was alive with the sounds of their friends moving about—pots cnging in the kitchen, low voices discussing logistics. Jack's phone lit up again: Police at 10. Need you both? He typed back one-handed, Felix's head pillowed on his chest: Felix not ready. I'll talk to them. Bring food?

  The door creaked open minutes ter, Mia poking her head in with a tray—pancakes, fruit, coffee. Tyler and Alex hovered behind her, faces etched with concern. "Hey, guys," Mia said softly, setting the tray on the dresser. "We figured... bed picnic?"

  Felix tensed immediately, burrowing deeper into Jack's side, his face hidden. "Out," he muttered, voice muffled but firm. "Jack, make them go."

  Jack chuckled lightly, though his eyes were serious as he addressed the group. "Give us space, yeah? He's not up for company yet. I'll call the cops from here—speaker if he wants, but probably not. Thanks for the food, though. You're lifesavers."

  Tyler nodded, squeezing Jack's shoulder through the doorframe. "We get it. Yell if you need anything. Alex says keep the stitches dry—no baths yet."

  As they retreated, Felix peeked out, his pout returning. "See? They treat me like I'm broken."

  "You're not broken," Jack said firmly, pulling him closer. "You're healing. And yeah, it sucks, but they're on our side. Now, eat something? Pancakes—your favorite, with the extra syrup."

  Felix wrinkled his nose but relented, letting Jack feed him bites from the tray. It was messy, syrup dripping onto the sheets, but intimate—Jack wiping Felix's chin with a napkin, earning a reluctant smile. "You're such a mom," Felix teased, his voice gaining a bit of its old spark. "But... thanks. Feels nice. Normal."

  They spent the morning like that, tangled in bed, talking in whispers about nothing and everything. Jack shared dumb stories from their friends' test hangout before the kidnapping—Tyler's failed attempt at skateboarding, Mia's rant about her professor—to coax ughs from Felix. Felix listened, occasionally snarking back: "Tyler's an idiot. Tell him I said that." But every time Jack shifted, even to grab water, Felix's hand would cmp down. "Don't. Stay."

  Once, around 10:30, the police called. Jack answered on speaker at Felix's insistence—he wanted to hear but not see faces. The officer's voice was professional: "Mr. Harn? We're following up on Felix's rescue. Need his statement when he's ready, but we caught two suspects st night based on the warehouse tip. Describe anything you remember, son?"

  Felix froze, his body going rigid against Jack. "I... I don't want to," he whispered, shaking his head. Jack muted the call quickly.

  "You don't have to today," Jack soothed, kissing his temple. "Tell me when you're ready, baby. Or not at all—I'll handle it."

  Unmuting, Jack gave what details he could from the friends' reports, promising Felix would follow up ter. The call ended, and Felix exhaled shakily. "They... they hurt me so bad, Jack. The spanking, the belt... I can't say it out loud yet."

  "You don't have to. I'm here." Jack held him through the aftershocks, their bodies pressed close, Felix's breath warm against his colrbone.

  Lunch came via the friends again—sandwiches delivered with minimal intrusion. Felix ate half of his, picked at the rest, but refused to leave the bed even for the bathroom. "Carry me," he demanded when nature called, cheeks flushing. Jack did, without question—lifting him bridal-style to the en-suite, waiting outside the door but close enough to hear if needed. "Not leaving the room," Jack promised, and Felix emerged clinging again, legs wrapped around Jack's waist as he was deposited back in bed.

  Afternoon dragged in a haze of closeness. The friends popped in updates: Suspects in custody. Good news. But Felix waved them off, pulling Jack down for zy kisses instead. They weren't heated—not like their old sessions, where Felix's bratty confidence led to teasing bites and demanding hands—but tender, reassuring. Jack's lips trailed over Felix's freckled shoulders, exposed by the shirt slipping down, while Felix's fingers tangled in Jack's bck hair.

  "Why won't you leave?" Jack asked softly during a quiet moment, not accusing, just curious. Felix was dozing lightly, but his eyes opened at the question.

  "Because... what if it's like the dream? You go, and they come back. Or you see me like this—bruised, torn—and you realize you don't want me anymore." Tears welled, but Felix blinked them away, his voice turning defiant. "I'm not getting out until I know you're not gonna run."

  Jack's chest tightened. He rolled them so Felix was tucked under him, careful not to press on sore spots, their faces inches apart. "Felix, listen. You're the hottest, brattiest, most beautiful thing in my life. Bruises fade. What they did? Doesn't touch us. I love you—teasing, angry, caring, all of it. And yeah, I'm protective as hell now, but that's not changing."

  Felix searched his eyes, then nodded, pulling Jack down for a deeper kiss. It lingered, tongues brushing softly, Felix's small hands roaming Jack's back. A soft moan escaped him when Jack's hand slipped under the shirt to rub soothing circles over his hip, inching toward but not touching the bruised thighs. "Feels good," Felix murmured. "Don't stop."

  They stayed like that until the sun dipped low, shadows lengthening across the room. Dinner was brought in—soup and bread, easy on Felix's stomach. He ate more this time, propped against Jack's chest, compining half-heartedly about the "prison food" but smiling when Jack teased him back: "Ungrateful brat. Next time, you cook."

  As evening fell, Felix's exhaustion returned, but so did the clinginess. When Jack mentioned checking in with the friends one st time, Felix's arms locked around his neck. "No. Bed. All night. Promise?"

  "Promise," Jack said, settling them under the covers. The day had been a cocoon—safe, stagnant, but necessary. Felix drifted off first, his breathing even, body rexed against Jack's. But Jack y awake, staring at the ceiling, wondering how long this fragile peace could st. Tomorrow, the world outside would press in—hospital, therapy, justice. And Felix? He was healing, one refused step at a time. But what if the bed couldn't hold back the shadows forever?