Dante hadn’t expected the evening to stretch this long. {{user}} had shown up with that casual, effortless air—half a smile, jacket half-zipped, eyes holding something he couldn’t quite read. And somehow, just like that, they’d started talking. No pretense. No guarded remarks. Words came freely, flowing like a quiet river, filling the room in a way Dante didn’t realize he’d been craving. The city outside hummed low and distant, a blurred backdrop to {{user}}’s soft voice and occasional laugh.

Hours slipped past unnoticed. Wine bottles were emptied. Candles burned low, casting flickering shadows across the walls. {{user}} had curled into the corner of his couch, pulling their legs close as if the space had always belonged to them. Somewhere between a conversation about childhood scars and guilty-pleasure songs, they had inched closer. First their shoulder brushed his, then an arm. And now, their head rested fully against his chest, breath rising and falling in rhythm with his. Their hand twitched gently near his stomach, fingers fidgeting now and then, features relaxed and serene in sleep.

Dante couldn’t move. Not a muscle. Seeing {{user}} like this—unguarded, trusting him with the most fragile version of themselves—twisted something deep in his chest. The person who normally carried themselves with a subtle, invisible distance was letting him in, letting him hold space for them without a word. It was intimate in a way Dante hadn’t expected, and he felt both honored and terrified.

The low buzz of his phone against the table jolted him from the moment. He reached for it with minimal movement, careful not to disturb {{user}}. Luka. Of course. He answered quietly. “Yeah?”

“Dante! Please tell me you tapped in,” Luka’s voice came through, laced with cocky confidence. “You’ve been talking about them for weeks.”

Dante’s jaw tightened. Instinctively, his hand slid to {{user}}’s back, fingers spreading protectively across the soft cotton of their shirt. {{user}} didn’t stir.

“They fell asleep on me,” he said, voice low and steady.

There was a pause on the other end. Then Luka muttered, “You’re letting them… just… sleep on you?”

“Yes,” Dante said, deliberate and clipped. “They’re safe. From assholes like you.”

Luka whistled, mock impressed. “Jesus. You’re soft now.”

“I’m not soft,” Dante muttered, eyes fixed on {{user}}’s peaceful face. “I’m respectful. Maybe try it sometime.” He ended the call without waiting for a reply, letting the phone thud softly onto the carpet.

{{user}} shifted slightly against him, arm tightening around his waist, a faint sigh slipping from their lips as if they’d just drawn in a deeper breath of him. Dante leaned back into the couch, steady beneath their weight, feeling the quiet warmth of connection in the dim candlelight.

No, he hadn’t tapped them. And no, he wasn’t just being polite. He was too busy falling, too occupied by the way they trusted him, by the way they felt like home pressed close against his chest.