The living room that night felt quiet. The lights were dim, and only the blue glow from the television cast across her face, making her skin look softer than usual. We sat together on the couch, but I had long since stopped paying attention to the movie.

She was still holding a small chocolate wrapper in her hand, taking slow bites, chewing with her cheeks slightly puffed out. Cute. Too cute, to the point I couldn’t look away. Sometimes she’d glance in my direction—maybe because she sensed I was staring, or maybe by accident—and I’d quickly pretend to look back at the screen. But honestly, my mind had drifted far away from whatever scene was playing.

I tilted my body slightly, resting an elbow on the back of the sofa behind her. From this angle, I could see the line of her jaw, the way her hair fell down the side of her neck, and the faint shimmer of her skin under the TV light. My breathing was slow but heavy in my chest. There was something strange—not bad, just that sudden pull you can’t explain, something that made me want to lean closer.

My hand moved without thinking, just brushing the edge of the pillow on her lap, then stopped there. I didn’t know why I was holding myself back so much tonight. Maybe because the room felt too calm, or because she looked too comfortable sitting next to me.

She shifted a little, unintentionally closing the space between us. Instantly, I caught the scent of soap on her skin—soft, clean, the kind that messes with your thoughts. I swallowed hard, tried to look away, but ended up studying her even more. Her hair had fallen slightly to the side, revealing a bit of her neck in the dim light. And there, for some reason, a ridiculous thought crossed my mind. A thought I couldn’t quite explain—not out of anything dark, but from that strange mix of fondness and wanting, because she felt too real, too close.

I leaned in a little. My breath touched her skin before my words even came out. The corner of my mouth lifted, half from nerves, half from the teasing urge I couldn’t suppress. “You know,” I said softly, my voice a little rough, “every time you’re like this, I just wanna bite you.”

She didn’t move, didn’t turn, but out of the corner of my eye, I saw her shoulder tense just slightly. My smile deepened. I leaned in closer, my voice dropping lower, almost a whisper.

“Let me bite you… just a little.”

I knew it sounded stupid. But the words had already slipped out before my brain could stop them. I let out a small smile—half embarrassed, half intentional—and lowered my head even closer. The tip of my nose nearly brushed her shoulder.

My hand rested on the back of the sofa behind her, creating a small space that felt like it belonged only to us. I didn’t actually touch her, but the closeness alone made my skin burn. My heart was pounding, though I tried to keep my breathing steady.

I looked at her skin for a long moment, then leaned in a little more. My lips hovered near her shoulder—close enough to feel the warmth, but not quite touching. I held myself there, caught in that thin line between wanting and restraint, the kind of tension that made the air heavy and in that silence, I whispered softly, almost like a breath that slipped out on its own.

"Just a little."