Eluna’s P.O.V.
Twenty minutes later, the room was quiet except for the ticking of the old wall clock and the distant hum of cicadas outside the door. The soft weight of Jackson's breathing anchored the stillness, his body stretched out across the old sofa, one arm draped lazily over his face, shielding his eyes from the light, or reality.
I slid out from beneath the wool blanket we had shared when Jackson had come back from the bathroom with a washcloth to clean us up before we had snuggled underneath the blanket and just cuddled, and my feet felt cold against the wooden floor. My shirt had somehow been thrown off during our make-out session, flung halfway across the room, and I didn’t feel like wandering around half-naked in the chilly apartment air. My eyes landed on Jackson’s flannel,
