She makes this whole show of picking the movie — talking to herself, flipping through titles, acting like the decision matters.

It doesn’t.

She could throw on a five-hour documentary about paint drying and I’d still be sitting here, just like this — arms folded, head tilted, watching her instead.

She's in my hoodie. That’s strike one against my self-control.

Her hair’s damp, curling slightly at the ends. Strike two.

And she just pulled a blanket out of the dryer and tossed it over herself with a smug little smile that practically screamed, "you’re lucky I invited you to this movie night."

Strike three.

I’m already toast.

“So?” she asks, settling into the corner of the couch like she’s claiming territory. “You actually gonna stay awake this time?”

“...Define ‘awake,’” I mutter.

She laughs. God help me. “I’m giving you a chance, Cole. Don’t blow it.”

I nod solemnly. “Understood. I will not ruin this Very Important Cinematic Experience by—”

“By snoring in the first ten minutes,” she cuts in.

I give her a deadpan look. “That was one time. And your documentary was about whales.”

“It was about conservation—”

“It was narrated by a guy who whispered every word like he was seducing a fish.”

She tries not to laugh. Fails. And the second she breaks, I move.

I reach across the cushions, loop an arm behind her knees and the other behind her back, and pull her straight onto me — full weight, no warning. She squeaks. Actually squeaks.

“Cole!”

“Mmhhhhmmmm?.” I adjust slightly so I’m fully reclined, head against the pillow, her body stretched over mine like a warm, perfect blanket. “This is better.”

“You didn’t even let me get comfortable first—”

“I am comfortable,” I say, tugging the blanket over both of us. “That’s the point.”

She props herself up on her elbows, face inches from mine. “We were supposed to watch the movie.”

I kiss the tip of her nose. “Yeah. That was a lie.”

She rolls her eyes. “You’re the one who asked for this night.”

“And I got it,” I say smugly, tightening my arms around her waist. “Mission accomplished.”

I feel her melt — slowly, like sugar dissolving. She huffs something under her breath, but it doesn’t matter, because her forehead drops to my chest a moment later and she lets out the softest little sigh. Like she’s been waiting all day to breathe.

That sound. That’s the one that gets me every time.

We lay there in perfect silence. The movie plays, muted by the brightness I turned way down — more flickering shadows than actual images. I don’t care. I’ve got my own cinema right here. Every breath she takes. Every twitch of her fingers on my ribs. Every heartbeat she presses into my chest.

She’s about five minutes from passing out when I whisper, “Hey, what’s this guy’s name again?”

No answer.

I smirk.

“Babe?”

Still nothing.

I turn my head just slightly and glance down. Her cheek’s squished against my chest, lips parted, eyes shut, and her fingers are fisted into the fabric of my shirt like her dreams depend on it.

She’s out cold.

And I swear to every god out there, I’ve never been so smugly content in my entire life.

I ease the remote off the armrest, mute the movie, then wedge one of my legs between hers just because I can. Just because she won’t move. Just because it’s us.

I press my lips to the top of her head and mumble, “Yeah… this is better.”

Ten minutes later, Jay walks in — loud, as usual. I glare at him over the back of the couch without lifting my head.

He opens his mouth.

I lift one hand and point a single finger at him. “Leave.”

“But—”

“Jay. I swear to god. If you wake her up, I’ll bury your toothbrush in the training room floor and make you dig it out with your teeth.”

He backs out of the room in silence. Good call. I close my eyes again.

Movie? What movie?

This. This is all I need.