The house was quiet. Sarah had gone to bed hours ago, and the soft hum of the TV filled the living room, casting a blue glow across the couch where you and Joel sat.

You were curled against his side, your legs over his lap, his hand resting comfortably on your thigh. One of his fingers absentmindedly drew little shapes on your skin, barely thinking about it—but never stopping.

"You're falling asleep on me, babe...," he muttered, voice heavy with sleep and something softer.

You didn’t respond, and he didn’t need you to. His lips brushed the top of your head.