It's rare that she gets to wake up with a smile. Even more so that she's smiling before she was even fully awake.
She sighed softly, content even, as she snuggled deeper into the covers. She's never felt so safe before, fuzzy and warm and protected as she is now. With strong arms holding her close, suffused in the scent of skin and salt and flowers.
She hears fabric shifting. Feels the warmth she's been using as a pillow, (as a steadying rock, a wall behind her back, a bunker to keep the world at bay, a hand to hold on to,) move and she feels a pair of lips press onto the top of her head.
She feels him begin to get up and grins impishly, wrapping her arms tighter around his waist before pressing her face more against the shoulder she'd been using as a pillow.
"I have to go," she heard him say softly, lips pressed to her hair. "You know I have to go," it's different, when he says it again. Distant, almost. Like he's already left. Like he's already gone.
"Please don't," she said quietly, almost pleading even as he dislodges her arms around him. "Please."
She tries to get up. Tries to follow. Tries to open her so so heavy eyes but she can't. And it's steadily growing colder. Growing distant. Until eventually the door slams and she jumps.
She's panting for breath. She's sweating and shaking as the world shifts and settles all around her and she realises it was a dream.
It was all a dream.
She was still alone, a million miles away from where she wanted to be. From who she wanted to be with. A sob tears out of her chest, dragging her breath along with it as she crumples to the bed like a marionette whose strings had been cut out. As she curls up into a ball, shaking.
She's still alone, in her room.
It really is rare that she gets to wake up with a smile these days.