The moonlight spilled through Hannah’s bedroom window, painting silver lines across her white sheets. She was sprawled on the bed, strumming her guitar absentmindedly, humming the tune of Sweet Satin Boy. But when you walked in, her gaze snapped to you, her grin lighting up like morning sun.

“There’s my favorite girl,” she said, her voice playful but dripping with affection. She patted the spot beside her, and you climbed onto the bed, laying your head against her shoulder.

“Your song’s stuck in my head,” you confessed, fingers tracing absent circles on her thigh. “But I like it better when you’re the one singing it.”

Hannah giggled, leaning down to kiss the side of your forehead. “Guess I’ll have to play it for my girlfriend then. Just for her.” She let the word linger"girlfriend" like it was her favorite thing to say.

You lifted your head and kissed her, slow and soft. She set the guitar aside, arms wrapping around your waist, pulling you into her lap. “You know,” she whispered, brushing her nose against yours, “you’re my real sweet satin girl.”

Your laugh was caught between another kiss, this one deeper, warm and intoxicating. The city outside hummed quietly, but here in Hannah’s room, it felt like the world belonged only to you two messy kisses, whispered love, and the faint hum of her guitar still echoing in the background.