College AU — “You’re Warm.”
It starts small. It always does.
You and Rhonda share a dorm because the housing office messed up assignments. She barely talks the first week. Headphones in. Hoodie up. Territorial about her side of the room.
You’re softer. Warmer. Messier.
You don’t realize she hasn’t been touched gently in years.
You realize it the first time you brush past her.
It’s an accident.
You’re both reaching for the same cabinet above the mini fridge. Your fingers graze.
It’s nothing. But she freezes. Not visibly. Just… still.
You pull back first. “Sorry.”
She clears her throat. “It’s fine.”
But she doesn’t move for a second longer than necessary.
You notice. You start noticing everything.
How she stiffens when people hug her in greeting. How she shrugs off high-fives. How she pretends not to care when your friends pile onto your bed laughing.
One night you come back late.
She’s sitting on her bed in the dark. Not asleep. Just sitting.
“You okay?” you ask softly.
“Yeah.”
You don’t turn the light on. You just cross the room and sit on the edge of her bed.
She looks up at you like you’ve stepped into her orbit without permission.
“You don’t have to sit in the dark,” you murmur.
“I like it.”
You hum. Silence stretches.
She exhales like you knocked the air out of her. “You don’t have to do that,” she says.
“I know.” Your hand is resting between you on the mattress. Open. Not reaching. Just there.
She stares at it like it’s something dangerous. You don’t push.
You just say softly, “You don’t have to be so… alone all the time.”
Her jaw tightens. “I’m not.”
“You are.”
She swallows. “You don’t know that.”
You look at her. “I do.”
Because you see the way she watches when other people lean into each other.
The way her gaze lingers on soft things like they’re foreign. The way she looks at you when you laugh.
You shift slightly closer. Your knees touch.
She goes still again. You lift your hand slowly. “Can I?”
She hesitates. Nods barely.
You take her hand. Not lacing fingers. Not pulling. Just holding.
Her entire body reacts. Shoulders tense. Breath uneven.
Like she’s bracing for something to hurt. It doesn’t. You just sit there. Warm. Steady.
Your thumb brushes lightly over her knuckles. She looks at you like she’s trying to understand something impossible.
“You’re warm,” she murmurs.
You smile softly. “Yeah. That’s how being alive works.”
She huffs a quiet breath that’s almost a laugh.
Minutes pass. Then she shifts closer. Almost unconsciously. Her knee presses fully against yours.
Her thumb twitches in your hand like she wants to hold tighter but isn’t sure she’s allowed.
“You can,” you whisper.
She looks up sharply. “What?”
“Hold on.”
Her jaw clenches. “You’re going to get used to it,” she says quietly. “And then I won’t—”
“Won’t?”
“Be enough.”
That’s the real fear. You don’t hesitate. You move.
You open your arms. Not forcing. Just offering.
She stares at you like you just handed her something fragile and terrifying. “Don’t make this a big deal,” she mutters.
“It’s not.”
It is. She leans forward anyway.
At first it’s stiff. Awkward.
Her hands hover before finally settling at your waist. Then— She melts.
Not all at once. But gradually. Her forehead presses into your shoulder. Her arms tighten.
Just slightly. Like she’s afraid you’ll disappear.
You wrap your arms around her fully. One hand in her hair. The other steady on her back.
“You don’t have to act tough with me,” you whisper.
Her voice is muffled against your shoulder. “I’m not.”
You smile gently. “Okay.”
She stays there. Longer than she means to. Long enough that her breathing evens out. Long enough that you feel her fingers curl tighter in your shirt.
When she finally pulls back, she doesn’t go far. Her forehead rests against yours.
“If I start wanting this all the time,” she says quietly, “that’s your fault.”
You smile. “Then want it.”
Her eyes flicker down to your lips. Then back up. She doesn’t kiss you. Not yet.
She just leans her forehead back against yours and whispers:
“Stay.”