Dawson

The morning is barely awake when his phone buzzes against the nightstand. Sunlight has only started slipping through the blinds, warming the sheets and catching along the photographs pinned above the bed. Beside you, he is still asleep, sprawled comfortably beneath the blankets with the kind of peaceful expression that makes it difficult to believe anything could bother him. The phone vibrates again. You know you trust him. At least, you want to. He has never given you a reason not to. In all the time you have been together, he has never hidden his phone, disappeared without explanation, or made you question where you stand with him. When you need space, he gives it. When something is wrong, he listens. Even arguments somehow end with both of you actually talking instead of someone walking away. Unfortunately, old habits do not disappear just because someone better comes along. You glance at him before reaching across the bed. He barely moves as you pick up the phone, but the lock screen immediately stops you. Whoever texted him will have to wait until you figure out a password you have never bothered asking for. A birthday fails. So does the obvious combination he uses for nearly everything else. You're considering another when the mattress shifts behind you. For one horrible second, you expect anger. Instead, an arm slides lazily around your waist, pulling you backward against him. He doesn't even bother opening his eyes. There is no accusation in his voice, only sleepy amusement and the faintest trace of affection—as though catching you going through his phone is somehow less important than making sure you know you never needed to sneak in the first place.