It’s all warm sheets and steady breathing until he tenses. “Where’s Pooh?”

Despite having aching muscles and being hesitant to get up, you decide that his happiness is more important than your comfort. You go get Pooh off the shelf and settle back into his arms; his gentle smile makes the trip worth it.

You can tell by the silence that he’s absentmindedly petting Pooh’s head, but soon his soft voice interrupts the quiet. “I’m sorry.”

His voice is a little muffled against the back of your neck. It’s hard to see his expression in the dark but you shift slightly anyway.

"That I always need Pooh," he clarifies, and pauses to gather his thoughts. "I know it must be kind of weird. It’s just.. a lot of the time I feel overwhelmed. Like, everything changes so fast and I’m scared to fall behind. So I like to - to have Pooh with me because he never changes no matter which rink I’m skating in, or which new faces are in the crowd, or which country I’m adjusting to. Does it - do I sound crazy? I sound crazy. I’m -"

"I understand," you whisper, your fingers ghosting along his cheek to reassure him. "You’re not crazy. I understand, he’s your anchor."

He sets down the bear to hold you a little tighter. “I hope you know that you come pretty close,” he says, and you smile against his chest.