Different From The Rest

The morning light slipped in through Billie's curtains, pale and gold, casting slow-moving patterns across the sheets. You stirred first—eyes fluttering open to the sound of distant birds and the faint buzz of the city waking up outside her window.

You were still tucked into her, your head resting on her chest, her arm loose around your waist. Billie was still asleep—her breathing deep and even, strands of hair falling messily across her cheek.

For a while, you just stayed there.

It felt rare. To be held like this. To feel like you didn't need to move yet. Like nothing was waiting for you except this moment.

Eventually, Billie shifted slightly, her arm tightening just a little before she blinked her eyes open.

"Hey," she murmured, voice husky from sleep.

"Hey," you whispered back, your lips tugging into a smile.

She looked down at you with a kind of sleepy affection that made your heart slow and soften. "You sleep okay?"

"Better than okay," you said.

She smiled, turning her face slightly into the pillow. "Good. You were... really warm. Like, human-heating-pad level warm."

You laughed quietly. "You're welcome."

There was a pause, but not the uncomfortable kind—just Billie thinking, watching you.

"You look nice in my shirt," she added, voice barely above a whisper.

You flushed, and Billie noticed—grinning just a little. "Sorry, that was a little cheesy."

"No," you said softly. "I liked it."

She stretched, letting out a soft groan before flopping back down. "Should we get up? Or pretend the world doesn't exist for a little longer?"

You nestled closer. "Option two, please."

Billie chuckled, then wrapped her arms around you again, tighter this time. "Yeah. Me too."

The rest of the morning passed slow. Billie eventually got up to make coffee, and you trailed behind her, still in her t-shirt, your hair a little messy and your heart surprisingly light.

She handed you a mug and leaned against the counter beside you.

There wasn't a rush to define anything. But whatever this was—it was starting to feel like something.

And both of you knew it.
Billie's kitchen was quiet except for the gentle clink of mugs and the low simmer of the kettle. She handed you a warm cup, her fingers brushing yours for a second too long to be accidental.

You stood side by side, leaning against the counter, sipping coffee and letting the morning breathe around you. Billie looked cozy in a pair of sweatpants and a loose tee, her hair still a little wild from sleep. You felt the same—softened by the kind of peace that doesn't come around often.

"I don't usually do this," Billie said after a moment, glancing over at you.

You raised an eyebrow. "Coffee?"

She smirked. "No. Letting someone stay. Letting myself want someone to."

Your heart tugged a little at that. "I'm glad you did."

She looked at you for a second longer than necessary—then turned away, like the feeling was too much to hold all at once.

"Hungry?" she asked, changing the subject gently. "I could make something. I mean, my definition of 'making something' is toast or... toast."

You laughed. "Toast sounds perfect."

A few minutes later, you were both at her small kitchen table, sharing a plate of slightly uneven slices of toast—one with too much butter, one with none at all—and laughing about it like it mattered.

"You know," you said between bites, "this is kind of the best morning I've had in a while."

Billie looked up from her toast, a piece still halfway to her mouth. "Yeah?"

"Yeah."

Something softened in her. "Me too."

After breakfast, she turned on some soft music—old Fleetwood Mac, low and warm—and you both ended up back on the couch, legs tangled under a shared blanket, sipping a second round of coffee.

There were no heavy conversations, no questions about what this was or what it meant.

Just Billie humming under her breath, tapping your knee to the beat. Just you leaning your head on her shoulder, tracing the stitching of her sleeve with your thumb.

The hours passed like that—slow and close and quiet.

Eventually, you stood near the door, shoes in hand, her t-shirt still hanging off your frame as she stood across from you.

"Guess I should head out," you said, even though you didn't really want to.

"Yeah," she murmured. "But hey... I really liked having you here."

You smiled, stepping a little closer. "I really liked being here."

Billie hesitated, then leaned in and kissed you again—just once, just softly.

When you pulled back, there was that look again. The one that said this isn't just a one-time thing.

"Text me when you get home?" she asked.

"I will."

And when you stepped out into the sunlight, it felt different. Like something in you had shifted—subtle, but sure.

You already missed her warmth.

But you also knew: this wasn't the end of the moment.

It was just the beginning.