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The floating clock on the bedroom wall cast a red glow across the ceiling. 3:17 a.m.
Nueva York 2099 slept, its city lights flickering in the distance as if the world were still breathing on autopilot.
But you weren’t asleep. Something was missing.
You shifted slowly under the sheets, your body already sensing what your eyes confirmed. Miguel was gone.
You sighed, feeling the absence of his warmth on the mattress. It wasn’t the first time he slipped out of bed in the middle of the night. He always did it silently, like he thought you wouldn’t notice. But you always did.
You sat up and saw him bathed in faint blue light from the city skyline, standing in front of the glass wall. He wore only loose pants, his bare torso tense as if he were still in his suit. That strong back you loved so much was stiff with tension. His dark hair fell over his face, unmoving. He stared out as if waiting for something to explode.
It wasn’t just insomnia—it was weight. Guilt. Fear.
—“Miguel…” —you murmured, your voice still raspy with sleep.
He turned slightly, as if he’d been expecting you to speak. His red eyes glowed faintly in the dark, soft but heavy.
—“I woke you” —he said in a low voice—. “Sorry.”
You reached toward him, lifting the blanket just enough to welcome him back. You didn’t need to say anything. Your gaze was enough. In seconds, Miguel was back in bed, sliding under the covers like a warm shadow.
He curled into you, wrapping his strong arms around your waist, burying his nose in your neck, his breath heavy and slow against your skin.
—“Nightmares again?” —you whispered, brushing your fingers over his cheek.
—“Didn’t sleep” —he confessed, his voice deeper now—. “Closed my eyes and… I saw you. Leaving. Fading. Like everyone else.”
Your heart ached. You held him tighter, guiding his large hand to rest over your waist. Anchoring him to you.
—“I’m not going anywhere, Miguel.”
—“You don’t know that” —he murmured—. “I don’t know that.”
And then he kissed you.
Slow at first, but hungry. Like he needed to memorize your taste all over again just to remind himself you were still here. Still his. Your lips parted for him, tongues meeting in a kiss that melted sleep away. You felt the hardness of his body against yours, the restrained tension.
His hand slid down your thigh slowly, reverent.
—“You going to make love to me like this every time you get scared?” —you teased softly.
He gave a soft, low growl—something between frustration and craving.
—“I’m going to love you every time I’m terrified of losing you. Which means… every goddamn night.”
There was no humor in his words. Only truth.
Miguel moved over you, bracing himself with his arms on either side of your head. His gaze scanned your face, your neck, the curve of your bare chest beneath the sheet. Then he pulled it down with a slow, almost ritual motion.
He kissed your chest with something like devotion, trailing his lips over your nipples, licking, then softly grazing you with his fangs, making you gasp. Your body arched into him.
When he disappeared between your legs, you forgot to breathe.
—“Keep your eyes on me” —he murmured—. “I want to see your face when I make you mine again.”
And he did.
His tongue moved through you like he had all the time in the world. He knew your body, every reaction, every soft moan. He licked and sucked and teased you until your thighs trembled around his head, and even then, he didn’t let up. His hands pinned your hips. The tip of a fang brushed your thigh as he flicked his tongue right over that perfect spot.
—“Miguel—please…”
—“Say it” —he growled—. “Tell me what you want.”
—“I want… I want to feel you. All of you. Inside.”
That was all he needed.
He climbed back over you, staring deep into your eyes. When he entered you, it was with a low groan, like his body was finally home. Your legs wrapped around his waist, and he began to move—slow and deep. Deliberate. Each thrust was a promise.
—“You’re my safe place,” —he whispered into your ear—. “You’re the only thing that quiets it all.”
His hands gripped you like you were breakable, but the way his hips moved said otherwise. He kissed you again, slower now, pouring everything he didn’t know how to say into that connection.
And when you came, it was with him. Your cries and his groans filled the dark. He buried himself inside you as his release hit, holding you like you were oxygen, saying your name like a prayer.
He didn’t move.
Miguel stayed there, forehead resting against your collarbone, breathing hard. You ran your fingers through his damp hair, heart still pounding.
—“Sorry I left the bed” —he muttered.
—“Then don’t” —you whispered back—. “Even if you can’t sleep. Stay here.”
He kissed your collarbone gently. His chest was finally calming.
—“I love you more than I know how to admit.”
—“Then admit it. I’m not leaving.”
At 3:58 a.m., Miguel finally fell asleep in your arms.
With you.