Saruhiko woke suddenly. He didn’t move, though his heart beat too hard in his chest. But he didn’t live in that house any more, and the unfamiliar warm weight slotting comfortably against him wasn’t anyone dangerous. It was Misaki.

Saruhiko didn’t move, trying to process the arm slung easily over his waist, the breath evening out against the back of his neck, the way every part of his own body felt taut with tension, but he didn’t want to move or startle Misaki awake—or away.

He couldn’t quite make himself relax, but he stayed still until morning, feeling it.