The mansion was quiet.
Sunlight streamed through the windows, soft but persistent.
Sebastian leaned against the couch, finally feeling slightly more human after the shower and breakfast.
Lillian sat beside him, brushing damp strands of hair from his forehead.
She shifted suddenly, a hand pressing lightly to her lower abdomen.
"Lillian?"
Sebastian asked immediately.
Concern flashing in his eyes despite the hangover and headache he still carried.
"I… it's nothing," she murmured quickly, cheeks warming.
"…Just… a woman thing."
Sebastian's eyes narrowed, but his expression softened instantly.
"…Ah," he said quietly, nodding.
"…Got it."
Lillian's breath caught slightly.
He understood.
Just like that.
Without hesitation, he pushed himself up.
"…Come on," he said, voice hoarse but firm.
"Wait… what?" she asked, startled.
He bent, careful despite his lingering dizziness, and scooped her up in his arms.
"Sebastian!" she gasped, cheeks burning.
"…I can't—."
"You can," he said simply, adjusting her carefully.
"…Trust me."
Her heart raced as he carried her down the hall, careful despite the twinge of a hangover that made each step a little unstable.
"You're… strong," she whispered, trying not to panic.
"…Even like this."
"And you need this," he replied firmly, entering the bedroom.
"…You deserve this."
He gently laid her down on the bed.
She blinked, a mix of embarrassment and awe washing over her.
"Cover," he said softly, pulling the blankets over her.
"…Warmth first."
She shivered slightly under the comfort.
"…Sebastian…"
He paused, wincing faintly at the movement.
"…Yeah? What helps?"
"What usually… helps with the pain…" she admitted quietly, "…warmth."
He nodded, thinking quickly.
"…I can do that."
Her eyes widened.
"…You?"
"Yeah," he said simply, ignoring the ache in his head.
"…I'll manage. Lie on your side."
"Uh…" she hesitated, confusion crossing her features.
"…Side?"
"Yes," he said gently.
"…Back to me."
She rolled onto her side, back facing him.
He moved closer, guiding her gently so her back rested against his chest.
The warmth of his body pressed softly against hers.
"You should tell me to stop if it's uncomfortable," he murmured.
"I… okay," she whispered, nodding.
Carefully, he slid a hand under her shirt, placing it lightly against her stomach.
"…Here?" he asked softly.
She nodded again, closing her eyes.
Already, she could feel relief from the warmth, from the presence, from him.
"I… can feel it already," she admitted, voice quiet.
"…The warmth… it helps."
He shifted slightly, careful despite the hangover, moving to make sure she was comfortable.
"…Good. I'll stay like this as long as you need," he murmured.
She leaned back gently against him, chest rising and falling with the rhythm of his warmth.
"…You're… amazing," she whispered.
"…Even like this."
"I told you," he murmured, "you deserve this. And I'm here. Always."
Another quiet moment stretched between them.
Her body eased, pain softening under his steady hand and the warmth of his chest.
"You… you don't have to say anything," he said softly.
"…Just let me help."
She exhaled slowly, finally allowing herself to fully relax.
"…I'm… okay," she admitted.
"…Much better already."
He tightened his hold slightly, just enough to reassure her.
"…Good. That's what I wanted."
The sun shifted through the windows, warm on the bedspread, warm on them both.
Lillian closed her eyes, chest against his, breathing easier than she had all morning.
Sebastian remained patient, steady, unbothered by the remnants of his hangover, fully focused on her.
"Thank you," she whispered softly.
"…For this. For being here."
"You don't have to thank me," he said gently.
"…You deserve care. I'm happy to give it."
Her body relaxed further, the pain easing with each gentle motion of his hand against her stomach.
"…I could… get used to this," she murmured softly.
"I'll stay," he said simply.
"…As long as you need."
And for the first time that morning, Lillian let herself sink completely into comfort—into safety.
Warmth.
And the presence of someone who would never let her face pain alone.
Her eyes fluttered open slightly, curiosity sparking.
"…Sebastian… can I ask you something?"
"Anything," he murmured, adjusting slightly to make her more comfortable.
"Have… you… ever… been with anyone else?" she asked quietly, cheeks warming.
"…Before me."
He blinked, surprise flickering despite the morning haze.
"…No," he admitted softly.
"…You're my first. My only."
Her heart skipped a beat.
"…First?"
"Yes," he said simply, voice soft but firm.
"…I've never… done this with anyone. Not like this. Not… emotionally. Not physically. You… you're my first."
Her cheeks warmed.
Relief, a little awe, a little shyness all mixed together.
"…So… you're… innocent," she whispered softly.
Sebastian shifted slightly, a faint blush dusting his own cheeks.
"…I… I thought… you'd want someone… more experienced," he murmured, voice low, almost embarrassed.
Lillian blinked, stunned.
"…You… thought that?"
"I… I didn't want you to think I…" he trailed off, unable to meet her eyes.
"…I just… I'm not…"
She shook her head, a soft laugh escaping her lips.
"…Sebastian… you're perfect. Exactly as you are. I don't care about experience."
His lips quirked into a small, sheepish smile.
"…Really?"
"Really," she said softly, leaning back against him.
"…You're more than enough. And being… this… vulnerable… like you are… it's… human. It's real. And I like that. A lot."
He exhaled, tension easing from his shoulders.
"…I… I'm glad," he admitted quietly.
"…I was worried for nothing."
"You were worried about what?" she asked, teasing lightly.
"That… you'd want someone…" he murmured, voice low.
"…Someone confident. Experienced. Not… me."
Lillian snorted softly, pressing a kiss to his shoulder.
"…You're full of surprises. But trust me… I'm happy it's you. Just you."
He relaxed, letting out a soft laugh.
"…Okay… good to know. I don't have to panic then."
The sun climbed higher, spilling golden light across the bedspread.
Warmth, comfort, and safety surrounded them.
For the first time that morning, Lillian let herself sink completely into the moment—into trust, warmth, and the presence of someone who would never let her face pain alone.