Being with Megan meant always being pulled into things—her world, her chaos, her warmth. She was all sharp edges to everyone else, but with you, she was soft in ways she’d never admit out loud. Especially when it came to touch.

It had been a long day, your body tired and your mind heavier than usual. You sat on the couch, scrolling mindlessly through your phone, when you felt it—the quiet shuffle of footsteps behind you, then the weight of arms slipping gently around your waist.

Megan pressed her face into the back of your shoulder without saying a word, her breath warm through the fabric of your hoodie. She held you there, snug and firm, her body fitting perfectly against yours.

“You weren’t gonna call me over?” She murmured, voice muffled but teasing.