“Don’t get too cocky.” Her voice is voice low and rough, muffled against his chest. Her face is half-buried there, and she’s too damn tired to lift it. Too proud to admit she’s satisfied. That she feels… content.

It’s fucking weird.

His hand stays on her back, and she doesn’t pull away. Doesn’t snap or shrug him off. It’s warm. Steady. Soothing in a way she doesn’t know how to process, and for once, she doesn’t feel like fighting it.

At the mention of a bath, she shifts a little, her body already aching at the thought of moving. “Yeah, sure. Just give me a second to recover,” she breathes. It isn’t normal for her to feel like this, exhausted in a manner that is foreign to her.