I’m sprawled out on her bed, my head resting on the soft pillow while she’s sitting up, her back against the headboard, scrolling through her phone. The dim light from her bedside lamp casts a warm glow across the room, the walls lined with random posters and photos. It’s her space. Safe. Familiar.

I can’t help but let out a deep breath, feeling the tension in my body slowly melt away as I wrap my arms around her waist, pulling her a little closer. She doesn’t even flinch. She knows I’m here. She knows I’m not going anywhere.

She’s so fucking comfortable, like she’s made for moments like this—quiet, simple. Her fingers swipe across her phone screen, her eyes glued to whatever’s holding her attention, but every so often, she glances down at me, and I catch the little smile she gives me. It’s the kind of smile that’s effortless, like she doesn’t even realize how much it messes with my head.

I hug her tighter, nuzzling into her stomach, feeling the steady rise and fall of her breaths under me. There’s something about this—something about just being here, in this space, with her, that makes everything else feel like background noise. The rest of the world doesn’t matter when I’m this close to her.

“Quit moving around so much,” I grumble, my voice muffled against her shirt.