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Pomni didn’t want to come.
That thought looped, over and over, louder than the music downstairs, louder than the chatter bleeding through the walls, louder than the constant, unbearable awareness of the dress clinging to her skin.
She didn’t want to be here.
Didn’t want the party.
Didn’t want the noise.
Didn’t want the lights.
Didn’t want him.
Especially not him.
Jax.
Of course, none of that mattered. It never did.
Because Caine had decided.
And when Caine decided, things happened. Whether you were ready, whether you wanted it, whether your brain could even handle it—it didn’t matter. The world bent around his whims like it was made of rubber.
So here she was.
Standing just outside the threshold of the makeshift house, staring into a space that already felt too loud, too bright, too full.
Her fingers curled against the fabric of her dress.
Ragatha had picked it out for her.
“Trust me,” she’d said, bright and insistent. “You’ll look amazing!”
And Pomni did. Objectively.
The dress was black, sleek, fitted in a way that made her look more put together than she felt. The material caught the light in soft, subtle ways. It was nice.
It was also a nightmare.
The seam running along her side dug into her skin like it had teeth. Every small movement dragged it across her ribs, scratchy and tight and wrong. The neckline felt too close. The sleeves hugged too much. The whole thing pressed in on her like it was trying to remind her it was there.
Constantly.
Relentlessly.
She tugged at it again.
Didn’t help.
Didn’t ever help.
“Pomni?”
Ragatha’s voice cut in, warm and bright and too close. Pomni flinched before she could stop herself.
“You okay?”
Pomni forced her shoulders to relax. Forced her face into something that might resemble neutral.
“Fine.”
It came out too fast.
Too tight.
Ragatha tilted her head, clearly not convinced—but she smiled anyway. “You look great.”
“I feel like I’m being strangled by a curtain.”
“That’s the spirit!” Ragatha laughed, looping an arm through hers before Pomni could protest. “Come on. It’ll be fun.”
Pomni doubted that.
Strongly.
Still, she let herself be pulled inside.
The moment she crossed the threshold, it hit her.
Sound.
Not just noise—layers of it. Laughter overlapping voices, something clattering in the kitchen, music that didn’t quite match the rhythm of anything else. It all stacked, pressing into her ears until it felt like her thoughts were being pushed out to make room.
Light followed close behind.
Too warm. Too bright. Too everywhere.
Her chest tightened.
Okay. Okay. It’s fine.
You’re fine.
Just—stand still. Adjust. Don’t make it weird.
Her hands twitched at her sides.
The floor felt unsteady, like it might tilt if she focused on it too long.
“This is great, right?” Ragatha said, already drifting toward a group across the room.
Pomni nodded automatically.
Ragatha was gone before she could take it back.
Great.
She was alone.
Again.
Her gaze darted around the room, searching for something—anything—stable to anchor to. A quiet corner. A familiar face. A—
A figure near the wall shifted.
Jax.
Of course.
Leaning back like he owned the place, grin already in place, eyes scanning the room like he was waiting for something interesting to happen.
Or someone.
Her stomach dropped.
Nope.
Absolutely not.
She turned sharply, slipping past a nearby NPC before he could notice her. The figure was…sticky-looking. Slightly translucent. Wrong in a way that made her skin crawl.
She didn’t slow down.
Didn’t try to talk.
She’d learned that lesson already.
Her pace quickened, steps uneven as she pushed through the edge of the crowd. The noise followed her, clinging, refusing to fade no matter how far she moved.
Too loud.
Too tight.
Too much.
She needed—
A door.
There.
She slipped inside without thinking, pulling it shut behind her.
Dark.
Quiet.
Still.
Her shoulders dropped instantly.
Oh.
Oh, thank god.
For a moment, she just stood there, breathing. Letting the silence settle around her like something solid. Something safe.
Her fingers loosened from the death grip they had on her dress.
This was better.
This was—
“Spots taken.”
Pomni yelped.
Her head snapped toward the voice.
Zooble stood in the corner, arms crossed, expression flat and unimpressed.
Of course.
Of course.
“Sorry,” Pomni mumbled immediately, already backing toward the door. The relief drained out of her just as fast as it had come.
No space.
No quiet.
Nothing.
She swallowed hard, forcing the lump in her throat back down before it could turn into something worse. “I—yeah. Sorry.”
Zooble didn’t respond.
Just kept staring.
Pomni slipped out again, the noise crashing back over her the second the door opened.
Too fast.
Too loud.
Too—
She needed something else.
A distraction.
Something familiar.
Her feet carried her toward the kitchen without fully deciding to go there. The air shifted slightly as she crossed into it—still loud, but less crowded. Fewer voices. More space.
Better.
Not good.
But better.
Her eyes scanned the counters.
Bowls of things she didn’t recognize. Bright colors. Weird shapes. Probably fake. Probably another one of Caine’s jokes.
Then—
She froze.
There.
A small box, tucked between two plates.
Bright colors. Familiar shape.
Her breath caught.
No way.
She stepped closer, almost hesitant, like it might disappear if she moved too fast.
Birthday cake Goldfish.
Her chest loosened, just a little.
Her holy trinity.
She picked up the box, fingers brushing over the cardboard like she needed to confirm it was real. That this—this small, normal, human thing—actually existed here.
It probably didn’t taste the same.
Nothing ever did.
But still—
It was close.
Closer than anything else she’d found.
Her old self flickered at the edges of her mind. Not fully there. Not whole. But enough to ache.
She opened the box, taking a small handful.
They crunched.
Sweet.
Familiar.
Her eyes stung.
Okay.
Okay, that helped.
A little.
“Getting munchies, Pompom?”
She choked.
Actually choked.
The sound that came out of her was somewhere between a gasp and a squeak as she spun around, back slamming into the counter hard enough to sting.
Jax stood there.
Of course he did.
Grinning.
Always grinning.
“What the hell is wrong with you?” she snapped, breath uneven, heart racing too fast, too hard. Her skin felt hotter than it should. The dress tightened again, suddenly unbearable.
“Jeez,” he said, completely unbothered. “Didn’t think I was that scary.”
“You snuck up on me!”
“Or,” he tilted his head, grin widening, “you’re just jumpy.”
“I’m not—”
“You are.”
“I’m not!”
He laughed.
Actually laughed.
The sound cut through her nerves in a way that made her jaw clench.
“You’re unbelievable,” she muttered, turning back to the counter like that would end the conversation.
It didn’t.
It never did with him.
“Lighten up,” Jax said, stepping closer. Too close. Always too close. “It’s a party.”
“I noticed.”
“Then act like it.”
She shot him a look. “I am acting.”
“Yeah,” he said, glancing her up and down. “Like you’re at a funeral.”
“Maybe I wish I was.”
“Ouch.”
She moved to step past him.
He blocked her.
Of course he did.
“Jax—”
“Come on,” he said, reaching out—then actually grabbing her shoulders before she could react.
She froze.
Not because it hurt.
Because it didn’t.
His grip was firm, steady. Grounding in a way she wasn’t expecting.
Which was worse.
“Let’s do something fun,” he said, steering her toward the center of the kitchen like she weighed nothing.
“I don’t want to—”
“You don’t want to do anything,” he cut in easily. “So I’m choosing for you.”
“That’s not how that works.”
“Sure it is.”
He stopped at a table.
White. Plastic. Cups set up in a triangle.
Her stomach sank.
“No.”
“Beer pong.”
“No.”
“Beer pong.”
“I said no.”
“And I ignored you.”
She stared at him.
He stared back.
Still smiling.
Always smiling.
Her fingers tightened around the little orange ball he’d somehow already handed her.
When did he—
She exhaled sharply.
Fine.
Fine.
If this got him to leave her alone faster—
“Good,” he said, grin sharpening slightly. “Knew you’d come around.”
“I didn’t.”
“Close enough.”
Time blurred after that.
Too many sounds. Too many movements. Too much everything.
At some point, she was laughing.
Or maybe that was someone else.
Her head felt light.
Too light.
Her thoughts slipped, edges softening in ways she didn’t like. Didn’t trust.
She missed something.
Stability.
Control.
The room tilted again.
No.
Nope.
That was it.
She was done.
Pomni stumbled away before anyone could stop her, pushing past the noise, the light, the everything until she found the stairs.
Up.
Quieter.
Better.
Each step felt uneven, like her body wasn’t fully listening to her anymore. Her hand dragged along the wall, grounding herself in something solid.
One step.
Two.
Three—
The hallway upstairs was dimmer.
Still.
The quiet hit her like a wave.
Her knees gave out before she could stop them.
She hit the floor hard, breath catching as her hands flew to her head, fingers tangling in her hair.
Too much.
Too much.
Too much—
Her chest tightened, breaths coming too fast, too shallow.
The dress—
The dress—
Her nails dug into the fabric, trying to pull it away from her skin, from her ribs, from her everything.
It wouldn’t move.
It wouldn’t—
“Wow.”
Her head snapped up.
Jax stood at the end of the hall.
Watching her.
Of course he was.
“You look horrible,” he said.
“Go away,” she managed, voice cracking despite her best effort.
He didn’t.
Instead, he stepped closer.
Slow.
Measured.
Like he was approaching something unpredictable.
Something that might bolt.
Or break.
“Not really your scene, huh?” he said, tone lighter than the situation deserved.
She didn’t answer.
Couldn’t.
Her hands stayed locked in her hair, body curled in on itself like that might make everything smaller. Quieter. Manageable.
It didn’t.
Nothing did.
Jax stopped a few feet away.
For once, he didn’t immediately speak again.
Didn’t joke.
Didn’t push.
He just…looked at her.
Really looked.
His grin faded.
Not completely.
But enough.
“…It’s the dress,” he said after a moment.
Pomni flinched.
Her silence was answer enough.
“Yeah,” he muttered. “Thought so.”
He crouched down in front of her.
She tensed immediately.
“Relax,” he said, quieter now. “I’m not gonna mess with you.”
“Could’ve fooled me,” she shot back weakly.
“Yeah, yeah.” He waved it off. “Broken clock’s right twice a day or whatever.”
Her breathing hitched again.
Still too fast.
Still wrong.
He watched her for another second.
Then—
“Hey.”
She didn’t look at him.
“Pomni.”
Her eyes flicked up.
“…What?”
“Can I help?”
That—
That threw her.
She blinked.
“You?” she said, voice rough.
“Yeah, me.”
“You’re like…actively the worst person to ask.”
“Ouch. Again.”
“I’m serious.”
“I know.”
There was a pause.
Then, quieter—
“I’m still asking.”
Her grip on her dress tightened.
The seam burned against her skin.
Everything felt wrong.
Too wrong.
“…I can’t do this,” she admitted, barely above a whisper.
And for once—
Jax didn’t laugh.
He just nodded.
“Yeah,” he said simply. “I figured.”
He reached toward her—
—and stopped.
Waiting.
Giving her time to pull away.
She didn’t.
Not this time.
His fingers caught the edge of the fabric at her side, right where she’d been clawing at it.
“Okay,” he said softly. “We’re fixing that first.”
The dress tore off easily.
He tore her goddamn dress—
"Jax!" She exclaimed, her face going bright red.
"There. No more itchiness. You're welcome, poms."
She felt stripped bare in front of him.
She *was* bare in front of him.
Oh. My. God.
Pomni's hands fluttered uselessly at her sides, fingers tapping against her thighs in rapid succession—one-two-three-four, one-two-three-four. The pattern helped. A little. Not enough. "Jax, we can't—"
"Why not?"
"Because that door doesn't lock." The words came out too fast, tumbling over each other. She could hear Ragatha's voice down the hall, muffled but present. Too close. Way too close.
He pulled her up with that infuriating ease, slipping into the bathroom. He set her down and locked the door behind them with a decisive *click*. "There. Locks."
"You're joking."
"For once, I'm not."
Pomni turned her head to the side, unable to maintain eye contact. The fluorescent light was too bright, buzzing faintly in a way that made her teeth ache. "You want to...kiss in here?"
"Pomni, I want to do more than that."
"Makeout?" She blinked rapidly, still processing. Her brain was three steps behind, trying to categorize what was happening into something that made sense.
He put his hands on his knees as he laughed. "And you called *me* shallow."
Jax took her by the arms—firm but not tight, he'd learned that much—pushing her against the tile. The cool surface was a shock against her overheated skin. Good. Grounding. His lips found the shell of her ear. "Mm...Can I kiss you, PomPom?"
"You smell like beer." A statement of fact. Her brain catalogued sensory information whether she wanted it to or not.
"You smell like cake. Your point?"
"Are you drunk?" She needed to know. Needed the variables to make sense.
"There's a difference between drinking and being drunk, princess."
She made a choked noise, shifting in place. Her fingers found the seam of the tile grout, tracing it. Texture. Focus.
"Relax." He said it softly, which was wrong. Jax wasn't soft. But his voice had dropped to something almost gentle. "You didn't answer me."
"Yes." The word barely left her lips before his mouth found hers.
He was slow. Gentle. At first.
The pressure was manageable. Good, even. Pomni's mind went quiet in a way it rarely did—no spiraling thoughts, no analyzing every possible outcome. Just sensation. When she tried to reciprocate, clumsy and uncertain, he deepened the kiss.
"Let me lead," he whispered between kisses.
She let him. Pomni hadn't been with anyone since middle school, and even that wasn't serious. Not like how this felt—overwhelming and right and terrifying all at once.
She opened her eyes—when had she closed them?—and her fingers found the button of his overalls. The metal was cool. Textured. She focused on that as she fumbled with it. He groaned against her mouth. "Getting bold on me?"
He broke away and lost the red clothing quickly.
There wasn't anything underneath.
There wasn't anything underneath.
She swallowed hard, her throat feeling too dry and her mouth too wet. The contrast was uncomfortable. "Oh my god."
"You repeat yourself a lot."
"Do I?" She genuinely didn't know. Time did weird things when she was overwhelmed.
He didn't answer. He was too focused on leading her toward the shower.
Her chest tightened immediately. "Jax—"
He froze, raising a brow. "What? Chickening out on me?"
"No. I mean..." She whined, the sound escaping before she could stop it. Humiliating. "I don't..." Words were hard. Why were words so hard right now?
"Spit it out. I don't always bite."
"Showers make me feel...bad." She gestured vaguely, helplessly. "The water. It's too much. Like static. Everywhere."
"Sensory issues. Got it." He shifted, thinking. She appreciated that he didn't make her explain further.
"We could go back to the bed—"
"The door doesn't lock, Pom."
"Even better." She smiled up at him, surprising herself.
"Little rebel." He murmured, dragging her back to the bed.
The blanket was soft. *Really* soft. Pomni's fingers immediately found the fabric, rubbing it between her thumb and forefinger. Velvet. The texture helped her brain settle. "All good?" Jax asked, watching her.
She nodded, still focused on the blanket.
"You sure you know what you're doing?" He paused, studying her face.
Pomni reddened. "Is it really that obvious?"
"Not complaining. Just gonna be gentle with you."
His fingers found her clit through the lace, and the sensation was *immediate*—sharp and electric and so intense she gasped. "Oh my god. Oh my—" She moaned, rolling her hips without thinking. Her body knew what to do even if her brain was still catching up.
"Just like that, Pompom." He growled, pulling the blue fabric down and off.
They weren't the nicest panties. She would've worn better if she'd known he would—
Her thoughts went completely silent when his fingers thrust inside her. She nearly screamed, and he paused immediately. "Bad girl. Keep quiet for me."
She nodded frantically. Anything to get him to keep going. Please keep going.
His mouth was on her clit now, moving lower. One of her hands found the sheet, gripping hard. The other clamped over her mouth. The pressure against her palm helped. Kept her grounded even as everything else spiraled into pure sensation.
"Pretty Pomni...such a slut for me."
She was so close. That one sentence might just—
"Greedy little bitch," he said against her, and there she was—shaking and sobbing all at once. Too much. It was too much but it was so fucking good. Her legs trembled, her fingers went numb, and for a moment everything was just white noise and pleasure.
He licked his lips, bringing his head up. His fingers—still wet—pressed against her lips. She didn't move, still processing. "Suck, baby."
Pomni finally took them in her mouth, swirling her tongue around them experimentally. The taste was strange. Not bad. Just...new. He groaned, and she made a hesitant movement toward his cock with her hand.
He grabbed her wrist quickly. Firm. "Not now."
"I want to help—"
"You're wrecked, Pompom. I think you'll be fine till morning." He grabbed her hand gently, leading her toward the bathroom again.
Pomni pulled away immediately, her heart rate spiking. "I don't want a shower."
"Bathtime," he whispered into her ear.
"Alone?"
"Yeah, because I just *love* watching you clean yourself. Really turns me on to see you covered in...bodywash." He nuzzled her nose, his sarcasm thick. She stared at him with wide eyes, trying to parse whether he was serious.
"That's gross."
"You really don't understand sarcasm." He lifted her easily and set her down beside the tub. "Warm or cold?"
"Hot. Scorching." She needed the heat. Needed the weight of it.
He turned it up and hopped in after it filled, the water sloshing.
"You like bubbles?" He dumped in the whole bottle of soap before she could answer.
She sat on the far edge, knees pulled to her chest. He came over to her, moving slowly. "Turn around," he said softly.
His fingers felt nice in her hair—firm pressure on her scalp, methodical. Predictable. She gave a soft hum, the sound involuntary. He kissed her cheek.
"You're not half bad, pompom."
"You too, bunny boy." She leaned back against him, finally letting herself relax into the warmth.
---
The water was perfect. Almost too hot, but not quite. Pomni focused on that—the heat seeping into her muscles, the weight of it against her skin. Grounding. Real.
Her brain was starting to catch up now, which was both good and terrible. The pleasant fog of sensation was lifting, replaced by the sharp awareness of *everything*. What they'd just done. What it meant. What came next.
Her fingers found the edge of the tub, tracing the smooth porcelain in repetitive lines. Back and forth. Back and forth.
"You good?" Jax's voice rumbled behind her, his chest pressed against her back.
"I don't know yet." Honest. Too honest, maybe, but her filter was completely gone.
"Fair enough." He didn't push. His hands moved to her shoulders, kneading gently. The pressure was perfect—firm enough to feel, not so much that it overwhelmed. How did he know? When had he learned that?
Pomni's breathing was still uneven. She could feel her heartbeat in her throat, too fast, too much. The pleasant buzz in her limbs was fading into something shakier. Her hands were trembling slightly.
"Water too hot?" Jax asked, reaching for the faucet.
"No. It's—it's good. I need it hot." She pulled her knees tighter to her chest. "I just... I don't know. Everything feels like a lot right now."
"Yeah, that's kind of how it works." He continued washing her hair, his movements steady and predictable. Scoop water, pour, repeat. The rhythm helped. "You're not gonna crash on me, are you?"
"Crash?"
"You know. Freak out. Spiral. Whatever it is you do when your brain goes into overdrive."
She wanted to be offended, but he wasn't wrong. "Maybe. I don't know. My brain won't stop."
"What's it doing?"
Pomni hesitated. Her thoughts were a tangled mess—half-formed worries and observations colliding into each other. "Thinking about... everything. What we did. Whether I did it right. If you're going to be weird about it tomorrow. If *I'm* going to be weird about it. Whether everyone heard us. If the door was actually locked. What time it is. Whether I need to—"
"Pom." He turned her around gently, his hands on her shoulders. "Look at me."
She did, though it took effort. Eye contact felt like staring into a spotlight right now.
"You're spiraling. I can literally see it happening." His expression was unreadable. "We're good. You're good. Nobody heard anything because Ragatha's room is on the other side of the hall and everyone else was downstairs. The door was locked. You were fine—better than fine. And yeah, I'm probably gonna be annoying about it tomorrow, but that's just because I'm an asshole, not because anything was wrong."
The words should have helped. They did help, a little. But her chest still felt tight. "Okay."
"That's not your 'okay' voice. That's your 'I'm saying okay but I'm not actually okay' voice."
"I don't have different okay voices."
"You absolutely do." He pulled her closer, wrapping his arms around her. The pressure was immediate and grounding. "What do you need? And don't say 'nothing' because I can feel you shaking."
Pomni pressed her face against his chest, hiding. "I don't know. I just feel... too much. Like my skin doesn't fit right."
"Sensory shit?"
"Yeah." Her voice was muffled. "Everything's too loud in my head. I can hear the water dripping from the faucet and it's not even a steady drip, it's random, and the bubbles are popping and I can feel every single one and the light is buzzing and—"
"Alright, alright. Hold on." He reached over and flicked off the bathroom light. The room plunged into darkness, save for the faint glow from under the door. "Better?"
"...Yeah. Actually, yeah."
"Water still good?"
She nodded against him.
"Okay. Just focus on breathing for a second. In for four, hold for four, out for four. You know the drill."
She did. They'd done this before—different context, but same principle. Panic attacks in the middle of the night when the Circus got to be too much. Overstimulation after particularly chaotic adventures. He'd figured out her patterns faster than she had.
Pomni breathed. In, hold, out. In, hold, out. Jax's hand moved to her back, tracing slow circles. The repetitive motion helped. Predictable. Steady.
"There you go," he murmured. "You're doing fine, Pom."
"I'm sorry," she whispered.
"For what?"
"Being... like this. Complicated."
"Shut up." No heat in it. "You think you're the only complicated person here? I'm a dick to everyone because it's easier than actually dealing with my shit. You're not complicated. You're just you."
Her throat felt tight for a different reason now. "That was almost sweet."
"Don't get used to it."
They sat in silence for a while. Pomni's breathing evened out. The shaking subsided. Her brain was still moving too fast, but it was manageable now. Categorizable.
"Can we get out?" she asked quietly. "The water's getting cold."
"Yeah, sure." He stood first, water sluicing off him, and grabbed a towel. "Arms up."
She stood on shaky legs, and he wrapped the towel around her immediately—firm, snug, like a cocoon. The pressure was perfect. She hadn't realized how much she needed it until it was there.
"Good?"
"Really good." She pulled it tighter, tucking it under her arms.
Jax grabbed another towel for himself, barely bothering to dry off before wrapping it around his waist. "Come on. Let's get you somewhere comfortable."
He led her back to the bed—their bed now, apparently—and pulled back the covers. "In."
Pomni climbed in, still wrapped in the towel. The sheets were cool and soft. She immediately curled into a ball, pulling the blanket up to her chin.
Jax slid in beside her, not touching yet. "You want space or you want me close?"
"Close, but—not too much? Like, I want to feel you there, but I need to not feel... trapped."
"Got it." Jax shifted, turning onto his side to face her. He left a few inches of space between them, then extended his arm. "Come here."
Pomni hesitated for only a moment before scooting closer, fitting herself against him. Her back to his chest, his arm draped over her waist—loose enough that she could move if she needed to, firm enough that she could feel the weight of it. Grounding without confining.
"This work?" His breath was warm against the back of her neck.
"Yeah." She let out a long exhale, some of the tension bleeding out of her shoulders. "This is good."
His thumb traced absent patterns on her hip, over the towel. Slow, repetitive. She focused on that—the steady rhythm of it, the predictability. Her brain was still moving too fast, but it was starting to slow down. Categorize. Process.
"You're still thinking too loud," Jax murmured. "I can practically hear the gears turning."
"I can't help it. That's just how my brain works."
"I know." His hand moved from her hip to her arm, running up and down in long, slow strokes. "What's it stuck on now?"
Pomni bit her lip. The truth felt too vulnerable, too raw. But they'd already crossed about a dozen lines tonight. What was one more? "I keep thinking about how you knew. What to do. How to... handle me."
"Handle you?"
"You know what I mean. The bath. Turning off the light. The breathing thing. The towel." She pulled the blanket tighter around herself. "You just... knew. And I don't know if that's because you're weirdly perceptive or if I'm just that predictable or—"
"Pom." He pressed his forehead against the back of her head. "I pay attention. That's it. That's the big secret."
"But why?"
"Why do I pay attention to you?" He was quiet for a moment. When he spoke again, his voice was lower, less flippant. "Because you matter. And because I've seen you spiral enough times to know what helps. It's not rocket science."
Her throat felt tight. "That was almost really sweet again."
"I'm just full of surprises tonight." But there was something softer in his tone. Less defensive.
Pomni turned her head slightly, trying to see him. "Jax?"
"Mm?"
"Are we... okay? Like, actually okay?"
His arm tightened around her waist, pulling her closer. "Yeah, Pom. We're okay. Better than okay, probably, but I know you need me to say it clearly, so: yes. We're good. This doesn't change anything except that now I know what you sound like when you—"
"Okay, okay, I get it." She could feel her face heating up. "You don't have to—"
"When you completely lose your mind and forget how to form sentences—"
"Jax."
"When you dig your nails into my back hard enough to leave marks—"
"Oh my god, did I actually—" She tried to twist around to look at him, suddenly mortified.
He laughed, low and genuine, and pulled her back against him. "Relax. I'm fucking with you. Mostly. There might be a couple scratches, but I'm not complaining."
"You're the worst."
"And yet, here you are. In my bed. Wearing my towel."
"*Our* bed," she corrected automatically. "And it's not *your* towel, it's just a towel."
"Semantics." His hand found hers under the blanket, fingers threading through hers. "Point is, you're here. And you're not freaking out anymore."
He was right. The tight feeling in her chest had eased. Her breathing was steady. The overwhelming sensory input had faded to background noise. She was still tired—exhausted, actually—but it was a good tired. The kind that felt earned.
"Thank you," she said quietly. "For... all of this. The bath. The talking. Not being weird about me being weird."
"You're not weird. You're just high-maintenance." Before she could protest, he continued, "And before you spiral about that, I don't mean it as a bad thing. I like high-maintenance. Gives me something to do."
"You like having a project?"
"I like *you*, dumbass. The high-maintenance part is just a bonus." He yawned, his jaw cracking. "Now shut up and go to sleep. You're exhausted and I can feel you fighting it."
He was right about that too. Her eyelids were heavy, her body sinking deeper into the mattress. But her brain had one more question, one more thing that needed answering.
"Jax?"
"What now?"
"Tomorrow. When we wake up. Are you going to—"
"I'm going to make some dumb joke about your bed hair, you're going to tell me to fuck off, and then we're going to go downstairs and pretend like everything's normal because nobody needs to know our business." He pressed a kiss to her shoulder, casual and easy. "And then tomorrow night, if you want, we can do this again. The cuddling part, I mean. Or the other stuff. Whatever you want."
"Just like that?"
"Just like that." His voice was getting drowsy now, words starting to slur together. "Stop overthinking it, Pom. We're good. I promise."
Pomni closed her eyes, letting herself sink into the warmth of him, the weight of his arm around her, the steady rhythm of his breathing. Her brain was finally, *finally* starting to quiet down.
"Okay," she whispered. "I believe you."
"Good." He was already half-asleep, his words barely audible. "'Cause I'm not saying it again."
She smiled despite herself, tucking their joined hands against her chest. The room was dark and quiet. The water had stopped dripping. The buzzing light was off. There was just this—the two of them, tangled together in the aftermath of something that had changed everything and nothing all at once.
Pomni let herself drift, finally, her last conscious thought a simple one:
*Yeah. We're okay.*