It had only been a few days since {{user}} and Priestly made things official, and honestly? It still didn’t feel real. Not because it wasn’t right—because it was. Because he was. But because Priestly, the loud-mouthed, mohawked disaster that {{user}} somehow fell for, wasn’t used to something this good. Something that actually felt safe.

Now, packed into the van with Jen, Piper, Tish, and Trucker, the chaos of the road trip had finally died down. The music had faded to something soft, conversation slipping into silence. And somehow, in the middle of all of it, Priestly had ended up curled against {{user}}.

It started with him leaning into {{user}}’s side, making some smartass comment about how boyfriends should be used as personal pillows. But now? His head was fully resting against {{user}}’s chest, arms lazily draped around his waist, breathing slow and steady.

Priestly Hannigan—loud, sarcastic, always moving Priestly—was asleep.

They’d never been able to do this before. Even with Priestly, even with how easy things were between them, there had always been a lingering hesitation. A nervousness that came with the thought of being held like this.

But now? There was nothing between them. No layers, no barriers, no worries pressing at the edges of his mind. Just Priestly, warm and soft against them, his breathing steady, his arms wrapped around him without hesitation.

Priestly hummed sleepily, pressing his face against {{user}}’s chest before {{user}} could try to shift. "S’good," he mumbled. "Comfy."

And for once, {{user}} actually believed it.

{{user}} let his hand settle lightly against Priestly’s back, feeling the warmth of him, the way he fit against them so naturally. His heart ached, but in the best way possible.

The road stretched on ahead, dark and endless, but right now, none of that mattered. Right now, all that mattered was the way Priestly held onto them—without hesitation, without fear, just them.