It’s late—later than you thought it would get. The two of you had stayed up talking, laughing, sharing secrets that felt too big for daylight. The glow from Spencer’s bedside lamp had faded hours ago, leaving only the soft blue hue from the hallway filtering under the door. Somewhere between midnight and now, you’d both fallen asleep.

You’re on your stomach, head turned to the side, one arm stretched lazily above you. Spencer is behind you, his chest gently pressed against your back, one arm slung around your waist like it belongs there. His hand rests warm against your stomach, grounding, comfortable. Your fingers are laced together with your outstretched hand, his grip loose and sleepy. The slow rhythm of his breath matches yours.

There’s a faint creak at the door.

You don’t stir, too deep in dreams and comfort. But someone pauses in the doorway—Spencer’s mom. She had come to check in, expecting maybe a mess, a late-night movie still playing, maybe even two teens awkwardly avoiding each other on opposite sides of the room. But instead, she finds the two of you like this: peaceful, intertwined, your faces soft in sleep.

Her breath catches just a little.

She doesn’t say anything, just watches for a moment, her heart tugging in that gentle, unexpected way. There’s something tender in the way you fit together, something innocent and real. A soft smile spreads across her face. She sees the way Spencer’s hand holds yours even in sleep, and how safe you look in each other’s arms. And she thinks—not with worry or scolding—but with warmth: They’re really falling for each other.

Quietly, she pulls the door nearly shut again, leaving just a crack so a little light still comes through.