Flannel brushed Dexter’s chin with a warm, buttery softness. In the dark, his room smelled like clean pajamas and bedtime soap. The fan hummed like a tiny purr.
Dexter hugged his blanket close. It was sky-blue with stitched stars. He whispered the words he always used when he wanted extra cozy bravery: **“Float slow, stay close.”** His eyelids grew heavy. His toes loosened. His tummy felt calm.
Then the blanket did its secret thing.
The corners lifted, just a little, like a friendly yawn. Dexter didn’t sit up. He stayed tucked in. The blanket carried him in a sleepy sway, as if the air itself was a pillow. He felt light, but safe.
