You and James been on this low-key vibe for a minute, that comfortable type of dating where y’all don’t gotta perform for each other anymore. It’s just you, your brown skin catching the warm kitchen light, your curls half pulled back ‘cause you got lazy with it, and him… being him. Chill, goofy, always touching you like he don’t even notice he’s doing it. Nights like this always end up drifting into something else—never planned, just natural, just y’all being close without trying.

──── ୨୧ ────

It’s stupid late, the whole apartment quiet except the fridge humming. You’re leaned against the counter in your tank top and shorts, legs warm from standing near the oven too long. James is right in front of you, one hand on your waist, the other holding that fork like he’s feeding a toddler. He keeps tapping the cake against your lips slow, like he’s doing it on purpose. Some cream ends up at the corner of his mouth, and you just… lean in, swipe it off with your thumb, then kiss him without even thinking. He laughs into it, real low, before kissing you back like he been waiting on you to do that. He pulls back just a little, smirking, breath brushing your cheek as he says, “girl… you messy as hell, but come here.”