Only after hearing the gentle rhythm of Claire's breathing from the couch did Lucas finally roll over, turning his gaze toward her curled-up figure, clinging to a large pillow. She lay nestled on the sofa, her small frame seeming even more delicate in sleep. Yet despite the calmness of the room, his own heart was anything but steady.
The lingering taste of her kiss remained on his lips, the fire she had ignited refusing to fade.
*Damn it!* Her kiss had been inexperienced, clumsy even, but it had managed to set every nerve in his body on edge. If she hadn't suddenly launched into all those accusations, he would have forgotten he was supposedly "ED"—the very excuse he used to deflect her—and things might have gotten out of hand.
*But why?* He had told himself repeatedly that she wasn't his type, that there was nothing appealing about her to him. And yet, her attempts to provoke him stirred something deep within, as if he were a teenager feeling these emotions for the first time. Perhaps it was simply because he hadn't been close to a woman in such a long time. Men were, after all, creatures of instinct. It was only natural to react to someone who was practically throwing themselves into his arms.
*This had to be nothing more than a basic physical response,* he assured himself, suppressing the small smile tugging at his lips. There was no way a "Snail" like her could truly affect him to this extent.
Just as he reached out to switch off the bedside lamp, a soft sound from the sofa interrupted his thoughts. Startled, he watched as Claire's sleeping form rolled precariously toward the edge of the couch.
Before he had time to call out to her, she slipped off, tumbling onto the floor without a sound.
He blinked in surprise, stifling a laugh at the sight. How could someone be so soundly asleep that they didn't even wake up after falling?
Shaking his head with a wry smile, he rose from the bed and walked over to her, barely aware of the fond expression softening his features.
---
The next morning, Lucas's mother beamed with pride as she stood by the front door. "Congratulations, Claire, Lucas," she said, her eyes crinkling with warmth. Her husband, Mr. Zeller, gave her shoulder a gentle squeeze, nodding in agreement.
Claire returned a nervous smile, sliding into the car where Lucas was already waiting behind the wheel. Only after Lucas's parents disappeared from view did she risk a quick glance at him before looking down at her shoes, desperately trying to keep her gaze fixed on anything but his cold, unreadable face.
*Ugh, he's definitely still upset.*
But honestly, how could this be her fault? She had no idea how she ended up in his bed this morning, clinging to him as if he were a lifeline, even using his chest as a pillow. When he tried to push her off, she barely responded, instinctively pulling him closer each time he attempted to pry her off. And when he managed to grab her arms, she simply hooked her legs around him. It was almost comical, like a wrestling match instead of an attempt to separate.
Deep down, she knew the reason behind this strange behavior. Ever since she was five, the traumatic memory of her father's attempt to take her life in a tragic leap haunted her dreams. The experience had left her with an intense need for security, so much so that she had grown accustomed to sleeping with an oversized pillow clutched to her chest.
But last night, she could have sworn she had fallen asleep on the couch with her pillow securely in her arms. So how did she end up waking up wrapped around *him*?