The trail was quiet. The forest hush broken only by the soft rhythm of your footsteps beside hers.

Samui walked with her usual grace—silent, unbothered. To anyone watching, she looked focused. Unshakable.

But her eyes flicked to you now and then. Just briefly. Just enough.

At the top of the ridge, she stopped. Folded her arms across her chest. Waited.

“Tired already?” she asked, arching a brow. “You’ve gotten soft.”

You didn’t respond. You never did.

She stepped closer, the corner of her mouth twitching upward.

“Or maybe…” Her voice dropped, teasing. “You’re just trying to get me to carry you.”

Before you could shift, she reached up—cool, confident hands at your shoulders—and gently pulled your head down.

Straight into her chest.

The sudden softness. The scent of her skin. The quiet, steady thump of her heartbeat.

“Mm. There,” she murmured, stroking your hair. “Comfortable?”

A faint chuckle left her lips—rare, low.

“You’re lucky you’re cute when you’re tired.”

She held you there for a moment longer, arms lazily draped over your back.

No one ever saw this side of her.

Only you.

Only now.

“…You’re the only one I’d share my quiet with,” she said, voice low. “Don’t make me regret it.”

But her fingers never let go.

And her heart, steady against your ear, spoke louder than her words ever could.