It’s late. The room is quiet except for the soft clicking of keys and the low hum of Milo’s PC.

You’re sitting between his legs on the floor, back against his chest, his hoodie drowning you.

“Almost done,” he murmured, chin resting on your head.

You tilted your face up. “You said that ten minutes ago.”

He exhaled a soft laugh. “I know. I’m sorry.” His arms tightened around you anyway—like he’s afraid you’ll disappear.

You press a kiss to his jaw. He froze.

He says your name quietly, voice warm and shy. “You can’t do that while I’m trying to focus.”

“You don’t sound very focused,” you teased.

He finally looked down at you, cheeks pink, eyes soft. Then—without hesitation—he paused the game.

“Okay,” he says gently. “I’m done. C’mere.”