Author's Note: I just finished reading A Court Of Silver Flames. It's easily the smuttiest book I have ever read, and I loved every second of it. Ugh Sarah J. Maas is the best writer ever. But after all those inappropriate scenes, I had to purify myself again, so I went back and read through a bunch of my favorite Sokeefe scenes from the first two books (Keeper Chapters 20, 24, 26-28) (Exile Chapters 5, 17, 40, 42, 43, 45, 48, 52, 54, 55). They are the cutest, purest, most oblivious couple.
Sophie sat up in bed, panting. Sweat covered her body, and the room was too dark for her liking. She hated the dark, because it reminded her so much of those nightmares that plagued her. She needed water, but when she peered over the edge of the bed, her resolve wavered. It was very dark, and there might be something under the bed. . .
No, she told herself. Stop.
The light switch was barely six feet away, and she could reach it in a couple steps. But she pulled the covers tighter around her, suddenly cold. It was too dark, and although she knew these fears were silly, she couldn't help them.
Sophie looked at the shadows across the room, to the couch, where she knew Keefe was sleeping, although she couldn't see him in the dark. He usually woke up when she did, probably due to their strange connection, but tonight before going to sleep, she'd been sure to strengthen her mental shields. She didn't want any of her thoughts accidentally leaking out.
Especially about that kiss.
Her toes curled under the blanket, and her stomach started fluttering. She wondered if she'd ever be able to forget about it.
Keefe stirred, and she blushed as if he had caught her thoughts. And maybe he had, because the usually even pattern of his breathing quickened. No, that was just her wishful thinking.
Sophie leaned back against the pillow, unable to stop the memories from flurrying around in her mind. She wanted to kiss him again. Wanted to drag her fingers through his hair and trail them down his chest, his arms, his back. She wanted to feel the press of his lips against hers, wanted his strong hands at her waist, pushing her into the closet wall.
She could have sworn she heard Keefe's breath hitch from across the room.
And maybe it was real, but. . . right. He didn't feel the same way.
Her mind kept choosing to ignore that, as if it thought it was a lie. And part of Sophie wondered if it was, too. She wondered whether or not he was faking, because the desire behind the kiss had been real. She was sure of it.
You don't kiss 'just a friend' like that. At least, she didn't think so.
But she was probably wrong. His reaction had been so awkward and painful that it couldn't possibly be an act.
And then her mind was wandering again, back to that kiss. She forced herself to stop thinking about it, silently cursing her hopelessly romantic brain. It was useless, because every time she tried to switch tracks, her mind dwelled.
Then she saw something, in the darkness. Sophie could have sworn something moved, although it was probably only her imagination. She sucked in a breath, all thoughts of kissing suddenly swept away. Panic overtook her. She wanted to run, hide, but she was paralyzed. Frozen in place as if someone had made her into a statue.
As if he'd heard her gasp, Keefe stirred, then propped himself up on his elbows. One arm reached to the light beside the couch. He turned it on, looking at Sophie worriedly.
"Are you okay, Soph?" he asked, his voice deeper than usual, his eyes only half-open.
She shook her head. No. No, she was not okay, and as much as she wanted to pretend she was, Keefe could see the fear that clouded her eyes.
She felt his worry, as if someone had momentarily given her an empath's ability.
"What happened?" he asked, standing up and walking towards her.
She pulled the blankets tighter to her chest. She could still feel shadows creeping up on her, behind her, in her head—
Keefe's hands cupped her face, startling her out of the mental pit she'd been tunnelling into.
"Soph. Breathe," he whispered, his breath hot on her face.
She blinked a few times, shaking her head out of the trance.
"Sorry," she said. "I didn't mean to wake you."
Keefe smiled at her, a tired, sweet, smile. "It's fine. I don't mind. Is there anything I can do?"
"No, thanks," Sophie said, climbing out of bed to go fetch water.
With him beside her, and the lights on, she wasn't scared of anything lurking under her bed. Somehow the fear subsided into simply a lingering headache.
Keefe followed her, a hand on her upper arm the whole time, as if he were making sure she was okay. She filled a glass with tap water, Keefe a steady presence beside her. She knew that if she wanted to talk about it, he would listen. He would listen not because he felt obligated to, but because he wanted to. And it was that thought that sent the words pouring out of her mouth.
"I keep dreaming about them dying," she said. "Tam and Linh and Biana and Dex, and everyone else, too."
Keefe nodded. "I know."
She blinked, the only sign of surprise that she would show.
"I get your nightmares," he said. "And I think you get some of mine, too."
That explained how a few of the dreams hadn't felt like her own. They'd had a slight edge to them, and they were filled with memories she didn't recall.
Sophie didn't know what to say, so she just slid her arms around his waist and hugged him. He hesitated, but after a moment his arms wrapped around her, trapping her in his embrace. She leaned her head against his chest, listening to the erratic beat of his heart. It felt nice, felt solid and real and dependable. Unlike every other aspect of her miserable life. Her eyes fluttered closed, and she held him for a moment.
"We should probably go back to bed," Keefe said, stroking her hair.
"You're more comfortable," Sophie mumbled.
It was a test, although she only realized it after the words came out of her mouth. A test to see if their friendship still held, despite her unreciprocated feelings and that too-heated kiss in the closet.
His laugh made her smile, made his chest rumble. "You know, if that's supposed to be a compliment, it's not a very good one."
Sophie pulled away to grin up at him, reminded once again of how tall he was. How easily he dwarfed her. And four seconds of eye contact was all it took for her mind to go crazy. Instead of trying to force the traitorous thoughts out of her head, she merely thickened her mental shields, hoping that he couldn't see what was running through her head.
Keefe nudged her knee with his, like he used to do before all of this nonsense happened.
"What are you thinking about?" he asked.
She blinked a couple of times, willing her cheeks not to blush. She failed, and Keefe's eyebrows rose with the implication.
Sophie picked up her glass of water and drank from it, hoping a change of subject would somehow materialize in front of her if she ignored the question. Thankfully, Keefe didn't press her.
"It's 12:45," he offered. "We might as well get some sleep."
Sophie drained her glass and nodded.
He walked her over to the bed, as if he couldn't stomach the thought of her being alone for more than two seconds. The idea made her smile.
"Sleep with me tonight," she said.
Sophie blushed when his eyebrows raised.
"Not what I meant," she clarified. "And I promise this has nothing to do with my. . . feelings. For you. I just thought that it might help us both. With the nightmares."
She made eye contact with him, hoping her eyes and emotions would convey what words could not. He nodded in understanding and, to her relief, climbed under the sheets. Sophie followed, pressing up against him.
She was glad they could still be friends, even after all that happened. And when she finally drifted off to sleep, not a single nightmare stirred her.