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Chapter 34: midnight wakeup call

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The room was still, quiet enough that you could hear Billie's soft, steady breathing beside you. The moonlight filtered in through the window, casting gentle silver across the walls and the edge of the bed.

But your shoulder... it throbbed. A deep, sharp ache had settled in—worse than earlier. It felt like your whole arm was pulsing with pain, and no matter how you shifted, you couldn't find a position that eased it.

You bit down on your bottom lip, trying to breathe through it.

Inhale. Exhale. Don't wake her. She looked so peaceful.

You rolled slightly, grimacing as your arm protested. Your eyes watered—more from frustration than anything. You hated feeling this helpless. You hated the fact that even turning your body required so much effort. You pressed your good hand to your face, trying to silently push away the tears.

Behind you, Billie stirred faintly. She made a small noise, the kind someone makes right before slipping back into sleep. You stilled completely, barely breathing, hoping she wouldn't fully wake.

But after a few seconds, you felt movement—sheets rustling—and then her sleepy voice, thick with concern.

"Y/n...?"

You closed your eyes.

"I'm okay," you whispered quickly. "Just... didn't want to wake you."

She sat up anyway, eyes adjusting to the dark as she looked at you. "Are you hurting?"

You hesitated, then nodded.

Billie didn't say anything at first. She just moved gently, crawling closer and sitting beside you, one leg folded underneath her.

"Where?" she asked softly.

"My shoulder... it just aches more now."

Without asking, she reached for the blanket and slowly peeled it back. Then, careful not to jostle you, she adjusted the pillow propping your arm, shifting it to better support the joint.

You winced, and Billie immediately froze. "I'm sorry," she whispered.

"No, you're okay. Just... sore."

She nodded, then leaned in and pressed the softest kiss to your temple. "Okay. I'm gonna go get your meds and a cold compress, alright?"

You watched her disappear into the hallway and return moments later with everything you needed. She handed you the water and pain pill first, then carefully slipped the cold compress beneath your arm, adjusting it until your face relaxed.

You laid back slowly, the pressure easing ever so slightly.

Billie slid back into bed, turning toward you. "Better?"

You nodded, blinking tiredly.

She reached for your hand again—just like the night before—holding it between both of hers.

"I've got you," she whispered.

And even through the pain, even through the haze of the hour, something in you felt safe enough to sleep again.

The next morning

The morning sun crept in quietly, casting soft golden light across the bedroom floor. The pain in your shoulder had dulled overnight, thanks to the meds—and Billie. You were still asleep, your body tucked gently beneath the sheets, one arm resting carefully in the sling, the other curled up near your chest.

Billie had woken early. She hadn't meant to, but when she saw you still asleep, your breathing soft and even, she smiled to herself and slid quietly out of bed.

She padded into the kitchen, hair messy, hoodie sleeves pushed up, moving with the kind of careful focus that came with wanting to let someone rest.

The smell of breakfast began to fill the air—scrambled eggs, toast, a little fruit, and tea. She kept it simple, but it was thoughtful in every detail. Your favorite mug sat near the stove, already filled with warm tea she'd been steeping.

While the eggs cooked low and slow, Billie leaned back against the counter, glancing at the hallway like she half expected you to walk in sleepily at any moment.

You didn't.

And for some reason, she liked that.

It meant you were resting. Healing.

She set the table with quiet care, grabbing a tray just in case she needed to bring it to you. Then she turned on a soft playlist—low, gentle guitar—and lit the candle she always kept on the windowsill.

Billie glanced down at the sling you'd folded beside the couch the night before and felt her chest ache a little. You were tough—she knew that—but watching you in pain had shaken her.

She turned back to the stove, flipping the eggs one last time, humming under her breath.

In the bedroom, the light was getting brighter.

And soon, the smell of food and Billie's faint voice would reach you—just enough to begin stirring you from sleep.

The scent of warm eggs and sweet toast stirred you before the sunlight even reached your eyes.

You blinked slowly, lids heavy, the dull ache in your shoulder still lingering beneath the haze of sleep—but softer now, thanks to the meds and maybe even more so thanks to Billie.

You stayed still for a moment, tucked under the blanket, breathing in the calm. Somewhere beyond the bedroom door, you could hear quiet footsteps and the soft sound of music—low guitar strumming, something Billie must've put on while you were still out.

Then came the faint clink of dishes.

And not long after, the creak of the door.

You opened your eyes just as Billie appeared in the doorway, barefoot, hoodie hanging loose over her sleep shorts, sleeves bunched up to her elbows. Her hair was messy from sleep, but her eyes were bright when they found yours—like she was relieved you were finally awake.

"Good morning," she said softly, and in her hands, she carried a tray.

Breakfast.

She walked in carefully and set it down on the nightstand, then sat on the edge of the bed beside you.

"I tried to be quiet," she added, tucking a piece of hair behind her ear. "Didn't want to wake you. But I figured if the tea didn't, the eggs would."

You glanced at the tray—scrambled eggs, golden toast, a little bowl of fruit, and your favorite mug of tea already steeped. Everything smelled like comfort.

You looked back at her, still groggy, a little overwhelmed in the best way. "You made all this?"

Billie shrugged like it wasn't a big deal, but her cheeks tinted just slightly. "Didn't want you getting up with your shoulder. Figured bed service was easier."

Your smile came slow, sleepy, but real. "You're kind of perfect, you know that?"

Billie laughed under her breath, brushing your hair gently away from your face. "Only kind of?"

You reached for her hand with your good one, giving her fingers a soft squeeze. "Okay. Fully perfect."

She leaned in, pressing a kiss to your forehead, warm and slow. "Eat before it gets cold."

She helped you sit up, adjusting the pillows behind your back and easing the tray onto your lap, extra careful not to bump your injured arm.

And while you ate, Billie stayed curled up next to you, sipping from her own mug, her head resting lightly against your good shoulder.

Neither of you spoke much—just small comments, the occasional soft laugh, Billie stealing a piece of your toast like she hadn't made two pieces for herself in the kitchen already.

It was quiet.

Gentle.

A morning you'd remember not for what happened, but for how it felt.

Like care.
Like softness.
Like Billie.

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