Different From The Rest

It was still dark when you stirred, the kind of quiet that only existed in the middle of the night. The room was hushed, painted in soft blue tones from the moonlight slipping through the window. You blinked slowly, disoriented for a second, before realizing you weren't in your bed.

The sheets felt different. The air smelled faintly like Billie—fresh and warm and a little sweet, like vanilla and clean cotton.

You turned your head slightly.

Billie was beside you, fast asleep.

Her lips were parted just a little, one hand resting above her head, the other draped loosely over the blanket—like she'd started to reach for you in her sleep but never quite made it. Her breathing was slow and steady, chest rising and falling in a way that made everything feel quieter.

You watched her for a long moment, your heart moving in slow waves.

She looked younger like this. Softer.

Peaceful.

You realized then that you were wrapped in her blanket, her warmth still lingering in the fabric. The weight of the night before—the laughter, the movie, her carrying you here—it all washed over you gently, leaving behind something warm and real.

You didn't want to wake her, but you couldn't help reaching out slowly, brushing your fingers lightly across her knuckles where her hand rested close to yours.

Her fingers twitched.

Then, without opening her eyes, Billie whispered, voice low and a little raspy, "You okay?"

You nodded, voice just a breath. "Yeah. I just... woke up."

She shifted slightly, her eyes fluttering open halfway. Even half-asleep, her gaze found yours.

"You want me to turn on a light?" she asked, already moving a little.

You stopped her with a gentle touch to her arm. "No. I'm okay."

Billie blinked at you, then let her head fall back on the pillow. She exhaled softly, then turned slightly to face you better. "You sure?"

You gave a small smile. "Yeah. I just... didn't expect to be here, I guess."

Her voice was quieter now. "Is it okay that you are?"

You hesitated for a beat. Then, quietly: "Yeah. It is."

There was a pause. One that lingered, full of all the things you both didn't quite know how to say yet.

And then, Billie whispered, "Come here," and opened her arms gently, without pressure.

You moved without really thinking, tucking yourself closer. Her arm wrapped around your shoulders, her hand finding the small of your back.

You closed your eyes.

This time, when sleep returned, it came easier.

Because this time, you weren't alone.

The soft glow of morning filtered through Billie's bedroom window, casting golden streaks across the covers. You were the first to stir, your eyes fluttering open slowly, warmth pressing against your side before the full picture came into focus.

Billie was still asleep—her arm around your waist, her forehead gently resting against your shoulder.

For a long moment, you didn't move. You just stayed there, letting the quiet of the morning settle in around you. Everything felt still, like the world hadn't fully woken up yet. The scent of Billie's skin, the comfort of her blanket wrapped around you both—it was grounding. Familiar.

You turned your head just slightly, careful not to disturb her. Her lips were parted again, lashes casting faint shadows across her cheeks, and her hair was a soft mess against the pillow.

She looked beautiful like this. Not the stage version of Billie. Just... her.

And then she stirred.

Her fingers tightened gently around your waist as her eyes blinked open, hazy with sleep. She looked at you for a second, disoriented in the way people are when they're still somewhere between dreaming and waking.

Then her eyes met yours, and something softened in her face.

"Hey," she said, voice rough and low from sleep.

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

For a moment, neither of you moved.

Then Billie's eyes flicked to the clock on the nightstand. "It's early," she mumbled, curling in just a little closer. "We don't have to get up yet."

You smiled softly. "Good."

She let out a tired breath, burying her face in the curve of your neck. "You're warm," she said, her words muffled. "You always this warm in the morning?"

"Maybe," you murmured. "You complaining?"

Billie shook her head lazily. "Nope. Just making observations."

You laughed quietly and let your hand rest lightly on her back, fingers tracing lazy lines down the fabric of her sleep shirt.

Neither of you said anything for a while after that.

There was no rush. No pressure.

Just the quiet rhythm of two people starting a day the best way possible—wrapped up in each other