Chapter 107: Morning on His Heart
Lisa’s POV
I wake gradually.
The first thing I am aware of is warmth. It’s not like the ambient heat generated by sunlight or blankets, but a constant living warmth underneath my cheek. My ear is on Leo’s bare chest, and for several silent moments, I don’t move. I just listen.
His heart is beating slowly. Deep. Certain.
The undulation under me is soft, measured, like even his breathing has started retiring. One of his arms is around my back, solid and familiar, holding me still. The sheets are knotted around our legs, remnants of a night whose closing was undetermined by distance or limits.
I don’t even know when the last time was that I woke up like this. Not hurried. Not defensive. Not bracing for the day yet.
I shift ever so slightly, tilt my cheek up, and that’s when his fingers come. They weave through my hair, lethargic, distracted fingers, as if he's been awake more than I have. The stroke is soft, almost worshipful as if he’s committing me to memory in the lull before the world robs us of our focus.
He murmurs, voice still thick with sleep, “Morning.”
I smile up into his skin. “Did I wake you?”
“No,” he says softly. “I have already awoken. Didn’t want to move.”
My chest tightens at the confession. "How long have you been lying there like this?"
“Long enough to make up my mind that I could live with it.”
I raise my head a little to look at him. His eyes are half-closed, dark and warm, with a soft smile on his lips. He seems at ease in a rare -- unguarded, unarmored.
He raises his other hand and cradles the back of my head, directing me just enough so he can plant a kiss in my hair. Not rushed. Not hungry. Just… affectionate.
It does something to me. Something deep and quiet.
"Good morning," I say again, this time softer.
“Good morning, hun.”
He strokes my hair again, his fingertips lingering as they travel lazily from my temple to the nape of my neck.
I slide back down until my cheek is once more pressed against his chest. “Your heart woke me up.”
He chuckles lightly. “That’s a good thing or a bad thing?”
“It’s… grounding,” I say honestly. “Like all the pieces are in place.”
His breathing adjusts ever so slightly. “I like to hear that.”
We rest there quietly for a bit, wrapped in the soft morning light through the drapes. Motes of dust float slowly through the air. The outside world seems so far away, so irrelevant.
At length, he speaks again. “Did you sleep well?”
“Better than I have been in years,” I say honestly. “I didn’t dream. Or if I did, it wasn’t nothing heavy.”
“That’s good,” he says. “You deserve rest.”
I raise my hand and slide my fingers over his chest in slow unconscious motions. There’s something about the heat of his skin under my hands that feels so private, and I still find it surprising.
“You were thinking last night,” I whisper.
He hums. “Was I that obvious?”
“Only to me.”
He breathes out slowly. “I was thinking about how easy everything feels right now. And how weird is that, that we almost missed it?”
I tilt my head up to him, again. “Do you regret the time we lost?”
He doesn’t answer immediately. His hand stops in my hair and then goes back to its gentle rhythm. “I regret the pain. I regret the silence. But I don’t regret finding you again like this. Perhaps we had to shatter to realize how to recombine.”
I think about that. “I used to think that’s a terrible idea,” I admit. “That you had to go through that pain for it to be worth it. It seemed unfair. Like an excuse.”
“And now?” he says. “Now it just feels… true,” I say softly. “Not because the pain was worth it. But because what we’re building now is honest. Intentional.”
He gives a faint smile. “At least we’re afraid together.”
I chuckle softly, laying my chin on his chest. “That may be the most reassuring thing you could’ve said.”
His thumb is against my cheek, slow and purposeful. “Lisa?”
“Yes ?” he his voice is flat yet calm.
“Thank you for choosing me again.”
The words hit harder than I anticipated. I swallow, the pressure of emotion beneath my ribs. “Thank you for letting me choose you, at last.”
His eyes soften. He leans down and kisses my forehead, staying there a moment longer than he needs to. As he pulls away, his expression is grave, candid.
“We don’t have to hurry today,” he says. “No meetings till later. No expectations. Just… us.”
“Sounds perfect to me,” I say.
I~make a slight movement and stretch and he laughs as I let out a small sound of protest as I pull away from his chest.
“Hey,” he says teasingly. “You were comfortable.”
“I still am,” I say, scooting closer again. “Just adjusting.”
This time he opens his arms only and I fall into him. My leg rests atop his, our skin touching, heat folded into heat.
“You know,” he murmurs, brushing my hair with his lips once again, “I used to think mornings were just something you had to get through.”
“And now ?”
“And now I think maybe they’re my favourite time of the day.”
I close my eyes and smile, “I never imagined I’d feel this safe waking up beside someone.”
We stay like that, entwined, the morning lazily stretching around us. No alarms. No urgency. Simply shared breath and shared heat and the quiet assurance that this—is the soft beginning—is something we need to hold on to.
As the sun rises, the room is bathed in golden light and I understand something so clearly that it startles me.
This is not simple joy. It’s peace.
And on Leo’s bare chest, the steady evidence of his heart under my ear, I know—without fear or doubt—that I’m right where I’m supposed to be.