Morning didn’t rush in.

 

It crept.

 

Soft light sliding through the curtains, touching the edges of the room like it was trying not to disturb anything that had settled overnight.

 

Stacey was already awake.

 

Not moving.

 

Just… there.

 

Duane’s arm still rested across her, heavy but relaxed, his breathing slow, even.

 

Peaceful.

 

For real.

 

She studied his face quietly.

 

Something about seeing him like this—unguarded, still—made everything from last night feel heavier.

 

Not in a bad way.

 

Just… real.

 

Duane shifted slightly, brow tightening for a second before his eyes opened.

 

It took him a moment.

 

Then he looked at her.

 

And something passed between them.

 

Not awkward.

 

Not overly soft.

 

Just… awareness.

 

“Morning,” he murmured.

 

“Morning,” she said back, just as quiet.

 

Neither of them moved right away.

 

Duane’s eyes searched her face briefly, like he was checking

something… measuring something he hadn’t put words to yet.

 

Then he exhaled.

 

Slow.

 

Like he’d made a decision.

 

He sat up.

 

Ran his hand over his face.

 

“You sleep?” he asked.

 

“A little,” she said.

 

He nodded.

“Yeah… me too.”

 

But his tone said otherwise.

 

He swung his legs over the side of the bed, elbows resting on his knees,

hands hanging loosely between them.

 

Quiet again.

 

But this wasn’t last night’s quiet.

 

This one had weight.

 

Duane stared at the floor for a long moment before speaking.

 

“You ever wake up,” he said slowly, “and realize you said more than you planned to?”

 

Stacey sat up behind him, pulling the blanket around her loosely.

“Yeah,” she said.

 

A small pause.

 

“But sometimes that’s when the real stuff comes out.”

Duane let out a short breath through his nose.

“Yeah…”

 

He nodded slightly.

 

“Yeah, it is.”

 

He leaned back just a little, but didn’t turn around yet.

 

Like what he had to say… needed to be said forward first.

 

“I been thinking,” he continued, voice low, measured, “about something I ain’t never really said out loud before.”

 

Stacey didn’t interrupt.

 

Didn’t move.

 

He paused.

 

Not because he didn’t want to say it…

 

But because he was figuring out how.

 

“You know how I told you I had to step up when my father died?”

 

Stacey nodded softly, even though he couldn’t see her.

“Yeah.”

 

Duane swallowed once.

 

“That didn’t stop,” he said.

 

Simple.

 

But loaded.

 

“I thought… once I got older… once everybody got on their feet… I’d be able to put that weight down.”

 

He shook his head faintly.

 

“That never happened.”

 

Now Stacey was listening deeper.

 

Because this—this was new.

 

“I became the one everybody called,” he continued. “The one people leaned on. The one that figured things out.”

 

His hands clasped together loosely.

 

“And at first… I wore that like it meant something.”

 

A small pause.

 

“Like it made me valuable.”

 

Stacey’s chest tightened slightly.

 

Duane’s voice dropped.

“But somewhere along the way… that turned into the only way I knew how to exist.”

 

There it was.

 

Identity.

 

Not just behavior.

 

He finally turned his head slightly, just enough to glance at her.

“And the truth is…”

 

He hesitated.

 

Just for a second.

 

Then said it anyway.

 

“I don’t know if I know how to be loved without feeling like I gotta earn it.”

 

That landed heavy.

 

Quiet.

 

Stacey didn’t rush in.

 

Didn’t soften it.

 

She just held it with him.

 

Duane looked back down again.

 

“Even with you,” he admitted “And that’s what’s been messing with me.”

Stacey shifted slightly, sitting closer now—but still behind him.

 

Still letting him lead.

 

“How?” she asked gently.

 

Duane exhaled slowly.

 

“Because you don’t make me earn it,” he said.

 

“And I don’t know what to do with that.”

 

He rubbed his hands together, like he was trying to ground himself.

“I keep waiting for the moment where it changes,” he added.

“Where it becomes… conditional.”

 

His voice got quieter.

 

“Where I gotta start proving myself again.”

 

Stacey felt that one.

 

Deep.

 

“And it ain’t even about you,” he said quickly.

 

“This is me.”

 

He tapped his chest lightly.

“This is how I’m wired now.”

 

A pause.

 

Then—

 

“Or maybe how I broke myself into being.”

 

That line sat different.

 

Stacey moved closer.

 

Close enough now that her knee touched his back lightly.

 

Not interrupting.

 

Just… there.

 

Duane noticed.

 

Didn’t pull away.

 

But he didn’t turn around either.

 

Not yet.

 

“There’s something else,” he said.

 

 

To Be Continued.......