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Lexi woulddie.

No, seriously - she’d die. Fully flatline.Haunt me from the beyondlevels of ghostly judgment, and then probably high-five me for the chaos.

Maybe slap Ash on the ass, too, just to feel included.

I strip the sheets first. Not because I’m domesticated or anything, but because I keep catching whiffs of my own slick and thinking,wow, someone should clean up in here.

Then I realize thatI’msomeone.

The drawer under the bed has spare linens, which feels criminally fancy, and I go to make it - just make it - but then something clicks.

I build it instead.

Ash called it a nest earlier. Not with judgment, but with that deadpan reverence of his, like;yes, this is normal, I’ve seen far worse in the army, including a guy who tried to turn a sandbag into a body pillow.

And now that he’s said it, I can’t unsee it.

I layer the pillows carefully, plump the softest ones, arrange them around the head of the bed like a fortress. I double-fold the blanket, then redo it because the symmetry is wrong.

I drag the armchair a few inches closer, because I liked it there earlier -

Because Ash sat there earlier.

It matters.

I even find a spare throw blanket in the closet and place it just so across the end of the bed, smoothing it down like I’m curating a vibe for my old social media accounts.

It’s... comforting. Centering.

It’s not just about tidying anymore. It’s instinct.

I crack the bathroom door to let in some cool air, and the steam swirls out like even the air itself is sighing after what’s just gone down in here. I pick up my robe, sniff it, gag, and throw it directly into the hamper like it insulted my ancestors.

And then I step back.

The room looks different now. Still full of scent and sex and Alpha energy, sure - but it’s not foreign anymore. It’s not a cell or a quarantine chamber or some rich man’s glorified panic room.

It’smine.

And for the first time since this whole heat started… I feel safe.

Not because they gave it to me, but because I made it.

I sink into the middle of the bed -my bed- wrap the new throw around my shoulders, and breathe deep.

Lexi would probably call it gross. But me?

I call it home.

*

The shower is hot. Scalding. Rinse-your-sinuses-and-possibly-your-soul hot. And honestly? That’s exactly what I need.

I brace my hands against the tile, forehead against the cool wall, and let the water pound down on me like I’m trying to wash away not just the sex (so much sex), but every last drop of confusion that still clings to me.

I spent so long terrified of this - of what I was, of what it meant.

Suppressants. Scent blockers. Lying through my teeth like it was a sport.

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