I wake slowly, warmth at my back and an arm draped across my chest. For a moment, I'm disoriented—this isn't how I usually wake up. No alarms, no imminent threats, no Monster waiting to torment me. Just... warmth. Safe, solid warmth.

The events of last night come flooding back as I shift slightly, feeling the sheets slide against my skin. Eliot. Young Eliot, here in my bed, in my time. Not my Eliot, not yet, but undeniably Eliot.

I turn carefully, not wanting to wake him, and find myself caught by dark, sleepy eyes already watching me. The morning light filters through the curtains, softening the edges of his features—the younger face, the wild curls, the openness I haven't seen in so long.

"Morning," he murmurs, voice rough with sleep, that soft midwestern accent dropping the 't' sound in a way that makes my chest ache.

"Morning," I return, my own voice equally rough. The arm across my chest tightens slightly, pulling me closer.

The air between us crackles with the memory of last night—heated touches, desperate kisses, the press of his body against mine. We crossed a line I promised myself I wouldn't cross, yet I don't regret it. Not even a little.

He studies my face like he's trying to memorize every detail, his fingers trailing gently across my cheek. "You're thinking too hard," he says softly.

"Just thinking about... everything," I admit. The spell that brought him here, the spell that will send him back. Julia's announcement yesterday that they've nearly perfected the reversal ritual. "They'll be ready soon, you know. To send you back."

His expression falls, just for a moment, before he masks it with a small smile. "I know." His thumb brushes across my lower lip, and I can't help leaning into the touch.

"I'm sorry," I whisper, the weight of what we've done pressing down on me. "This wasn't supposed to happen."

"But it did," he says simply, leaning closer until our foreheads touch. "And I don't regret it, Quentin. Do you?"

The question hangs between us, heavy with implications. Do I regret the night we spent tangled together? The intimacy we shared? The way he looked at me like I was something precious?

No. God, no.