I don’t realize I’ve gone still until my eyes start tracing you like I’ve got nothing better to do.

And I don’t.

You’re draped over me, all warm skin and quiet breathing, your sandy blonde waves spilling across my chest and shoulder. Some of it falls over your face, those soft bangs brushing your lashes. I reach up without thinking, hooking a finger under a strand and pushing it back, slow… careful.

Your skin’s warm under my hand.

My gaze drifts. It always does.

Down your arm first—the ink catching my attention like it always fucking does. The dove, the crown, the vines curling around it… delicate, but not soft. Not really. My thumb traces one of the lines absentmindedly, following the curve like I’m trying to memorize it.

“You and your obsession with pain and pretty things,” I mutter, more to myself than you.

Your fingers are resting against me, and I shift my hand just enough to lace ours together. The arrows, the tiny designs across your skin, they press against my knuckles. My grip tightens slightly.

Then my eyes move lower.

Your thigh.

That snake—wings spread behind the skull, twisting through eye sockets—it shouldn’t look as good as it does on you. But it does. It fits you in a way I don’t have words for. My jaw shifts, something low and quiet settling in my chest.

I drag my hand down your side, slow, until my fingers brush just barely over your thigh. Not fully touching the tattoo. Just… there.

Close enough.

My other arm tightens around you, pulling you a little closer without asking. You don’t protest. Of course you don’t.

“You’re unfair to look at,” I say quietly, eyes still on you.

Not teasing. Not light.

Just honest.

My gaze flicks back up to your face—those light grey eyes, even half-lidded, still sharp enough to do damage. My thumb lifts, brushing just under your bottom lip, pressing lightly before letting go.

My breathing slows, but there’s something heavier underneath it now.

Something that doesn’t quite settle.

My fingers slide to the back of your neck again, tangling slightly in your hair this time. Holding you there, just enough to feel you.

“Stay,” I murmur, softer than before, almost like I’m saying it to myself.