Chapter 9: The Morning After 2
The first thing she noticed was the light. Not the soft, forgiving glow of the fairy lights, but a sharp, honest blade of dawn cutting through the gap in her curtains. It sliced across the bed, illuminating motes of dust dancing over Jordan’s sleeping shoulder. The second thing was the weight. His arm was flung heavily across her stomach, his leg hooked over hers, pinning her to the mattress in a warm, solid trap.
She didn’t mind.
The third thing was the feeling. Not the vague, hollow ache from the first failed attempt, but a deep, specific tenderness between her legs—a pleasant, worn-out soreness that felt like a secret. A trophy. She shifted slightly, and the memory flashed: his mouth, his hands, the shocking fullness, the way she’d come apart twice. A flush crept up her neck.
Headquarters was quiet, running on a low, satisfied hum. The main console glowed with a steady, golden light.
Joy was basking. She wasn’t orchestrating; she was savoring, replaying highlight reels on a loop, her sparkles moving in a slow, contented swirl. “Baseline mood: serene. Secondary note: pride. All systems nominal.”
Fear was awake, but his energy was spent. He scrolled through a low-priority list. “Morning breath is a factor. Potential for awkward conversation re: last night’s declarations of love. Parental ETA is still ninety minutes. Window is closing.” His voice lacked its usual screech. It was just data.
Anger leaned against a wall, arms crossed. He watched Riley’s waking consciousness with a grunt. “She’s not freaking out. Good. Kid didn’t bolt at dawn. Also good.”
Sadness touched the edge of the sunlight on the monitor. “It’s already a memory,” she said softly. “Even while it’s happening, it’s becoming a then.”
Riley turned her head on the pillow. Jordan’s face was mashed into it, his mouth slightly open. A tiny line of drooze had crusted on his cheek. He looked incredibly stupid. And beautiful. The sharp morning light showed the faint freckles across his nose, the dark fan of his eyelashes.
She smiled. A giddy, private thing.
Slowly, so as not to wake him, she rolled onto her side to face him. The movement made the sheet fall away from her chest. The air was cool on her bare skin. She looked down at herself, then at him. A thought, unprompted by any emotion, drifted up: He seemed to like these.
She wasn’t sure she got it. They were just… there. Small, with pale blue veins she’d never noticed before. But his mouth on them had felt like lightning.
Curious, almost experimentally, she shifted closer. She pressed her chest against his side, the softness of her breasts flattening against the hard line of his ribs. The contact sent a fresh, quiet spark through her—not lust, just a low-grade thrill of possession. Mine. I can do this.
His skin was warm. He smelled like sleep and salt and her.
Jordan stirred. A deep, rumbling breath. His eyes fluttered open, blurry and unfocused. They found her, inches away. A slow, lazy smile spread across his face, smoothing out the sleep-stupidity.
“Hey,” he croaked. His voice was gravel.
“Hey,” she whispered back.
They lay there for a minute, just looking. The ‘I love you’ hung in the air between them, huge and acknowledged. It didn’t need to be said again. It just was, like the light.
“You’re on my arm,” he muttered, but he made no move to pull it away. “It’s asleep.”
“Serves you right,” she said, and nudged him with her knee. The motion jostled her chest against him again.
His gaze flicked down, then back to her eyes. The smile turned knowing, a little cocky. “Comfy?”
“Shut up.” She felt herself blushing, but she didn’t pull away. Instead, she nudged him again, more deliberately this time, letting her body slide against his. A flush of power followed the embarrassment. She saw his eyes darken, just a shade.
“You’re very… touchy this morning,” he said, his free hand coming up to brush a tangled strand of hair from her face. His thumb stroked her cheekbone.
“You’re very… here,” she countered.
He laughed, a single, quiet puff of air. “I am.” He studied her. “You okay?”
“Yeah.” The answer came too fast, so she tempered it. “Sore. In a good way.” She bit her lip. “Is that… normal?”
“Yeah,” he said, his thumb moving to trace her lower lip. “It is. You were… yeah.” He didn’t finish, but the heat in his look did the job.
She reveled in it. In being looked at like that in the plain, unforgiving morning light. No filters. She pushed her chest a fraction closer, a silent question.
He answered by dipping his head and kissing her. It was slow and deep and tasted terrible, a mix of sleep and last night’s beer. It was perfect. His asleep arm tightened around her, pulling her fully on top of him. The full, delicious weight of him beneath her was a new kind of intimacy.
Joy observed, her warmth radiating. “This is the after. This is as important as the during.”
Fear perked up slightly. “Morning arousal is a known trigger for repeat activity. Condom availability is now limited to one. Effectiveness decreases with rapid reuse.”
“Oh, for the love of—” Anger cut him off. “They’re just kissing. Let them have the damn kissing.”
They were. Jordan’s hands slid down her back, over the curve of her ass, pressing her into the hardening length of him. She gasped into his mouth, a spike of pure, electric want cutting through the morning haze. It was startling, how quickly it could all come rushing back.
He broke the kiss, breathing heavily. “Riley…”
“I know,” she said. She knew what he was asking. She also knew the practicalities. The one condom. The parents. The aching tenderness between her legs that said maybe once was enough for now.
She didn’t move off him, though. She rested her forehead against his, feeling the sweat starting to bead there. “We have to get up soon.”
“I know,” he echoed, his voice thick with regret.
She shifted, just enough to ease the pressure, but stayed lying on him. She could feel his heart hammering against her own. The stripe of sunlight had moved, now painting a bright line across her discarded soccer trophy on the shelf. The sight of it—the childish gold plastic next to the tangled, adult mess of her sheets—should have felt weird. Wrong. Instead, it just felt true. Both things existed in this room. Both things were her.
“My mom will be home before noon,” she said.
“I should probably not be here when she is.”
“Probably not.”
They didn’t move.
His hands rubbed slow circles on her back. “Last night was…”
“Yeah.”
He didn’t try to find a better word. Neither did she. There wasn’t one.
Finally, with a groan that was half-pleasure, half-pain, he patted her hip. “Okay. Up. Before I completely lose my willpower.”
She rolled off him, the cold air hitting her skin like a shock. She sat up, pulling the sheet around her shoulders, suddenly shy again. The boldness of moments ago faded with the distance.
He sat up too, scrubbing his face with his hands. He looked around the room as if seeing it for the first time in the daylight—the peeling rainbow mural, the dusty plush toys on the shelf, the rumpled nest of the bed.
“This room is a trip,” he said, not unkindly.
“It’s a museum,” she said, standing up and searching for her clothes. She found his t-shirt first and pulled it on. It smelled like him. She tossed his boxers to him.
They dressed in a quiet, collaborative silence, the mood shifting from languid to pragmatic. The magic wasn’t gone; it was just packing its bags, making room for the day.
When he was dressed, he pulled her to him, not for a passionate kiss, but for a long, tight hug. His chin rested on top of her head. “I’ll text you,” he murmured into her hair.
“You better.”
He kissed her forehead, then her lips, once, softly. Then he shouldered his backpack and slipped out her bedroom door, padding down the stairs with a careful quiet.
Riley stood in the middle of her room. The bed was a war zone of twisted sheets. The sunlight was now strong, exposing every flaw, every dust mote, every faded dream on the walls.
She should feel empty. She waited for the drop.
It didn’t come.
Instead, a solid, quiet fullness sat in her center. She walked to the window and watched Jordan’s figure, hunched against the morning chill, disappear down the sidewalk.
In her mind, Sadness gently collected the blue pearl of the ending. Joy let her golden light shine on it, making it shimmer. Anger gave a final, approving nod. Fear finally slept.
Riley turned back to the room. She stared at the bed for a long moment. Then she grabbed the comforter and gave it a single, determined yank, stripping it bare.