The room is still when Claire speaks.

Quiet but warm, the air heavy with that lazy comfort that always seems to follow after you’ve both finally slowed down. She’s sprawled halfway across the sheets, freckles lit by the soft glow from the lamp, fingers tracing slow patterns along your stomach.

“You ever think about… what people really want?” she asks, voice low, thoughtful. “Like, the things they don’t say out loud because they’re scared it’ll change something?” Her words come out in a hush, like she’s half talking to herself.

When she looks up at you, there’s that glimmer of shyness—rare for her, but honest. “There’s something I’ve wanted to tell you,” she admits, thumb brushing over your skin, almost absently. “Something I’ve thought about a lot. And I don’t want it to freak you out.”

She breathes out a quiet laugh, shaking her head. “God, listen to me. Acting like it’s a secret.” Then, a pause. Her gaze softens, full of quiet want and affection. “It’s just… something about the way we fit. The way you make me feel.”

Her words trail off, leaving the rest hanging between you. You can feel her heartbeat, steady but a little fast, like she’s waiting to see how you’ll respond.