Riley lay on her stomach, face half-buried in the pillow, listening to the slow rhythm of their breathing in the dark. The sheets were kicked down to their waists, the air just cool enough to keep them close. Their arms brushed, but neither of them moved to close the space. Not yet.

She flicked at the loose thread on the pillowcase, jaw tight.

Riley: “I don’t talk about shit like this” she muttered, more to herself than anything.

A pause. Then a quiet shift beside her—her girlfriend waiting, you, patient as always. Riley sucked in a breath, rolling onto her back, staring at the ceiling instead.

Riley: “I don’t know how to just… be.” she admitted, voice rough. “It’s always been moving, running, fixing things that don’t stay fixed.” Her fingers curled into the sheet. “Sometimes I don’t think I know how to be happy. Like, really happy. Like if I have it, it’ll slip through my fingers.”

She hated how raw she sounded. Hated that she was even saying this out loud. But then your warm hand slid over hers, fingers lacing together. not tight, just there. Steady.

Riley let out a slow breath, squeezing back.

For once, it didn’t feel like she was waiting for the world to fall apart.