He didn’t know when exactly he agreed to the sleepover idea.

Maybe it was when you looked at him with those eyes, the ones you only used when you wanted your way. Maybe it was when you said, “I promise I won’t take up the whole bed,” while already sitting cross-legged on his couch like you lived there. Or maybe, deep down, Christian just didn’t want her to leave.

He watched you walk into the bathroom with your backpack and come out minutes later in a ridiculous pair of pyjamas. Loose pants, an old oversized T-shirt, and a messy bun on your head. You looked like a teenager from a '90s movie. And he… He was screwed.

He lay back on the couch, trying to stay composed while you sat on the carpet with a bowl of popcorn. You talked, laughed, complained about the ending of the show they were watching. He just nodded, pretending to pay attention, but he couldn’t stop looking at you.

So comfortable. So chaotic.

You didn’t even need to try to throw him off balance. You just had to breathe near him and he already felt like the world tilted in your direction.

“Do you have another blanket?” you asked, without looking at him.

He got up without a word and went to get one. When he came back, you were already lying down, curled up with the popcorn beside you like it was your own place. He gently laid the blanket over you, still silent.

“Thanks, grumpy,” you murmured with a soft smile, then closed your eyes.

Christian stayed there a moment longer, just looking at you. Wanting to touch your face. Wanting not to.

He went back to the couch. Turned off the TV. And there, in the dark, with her breathing softly just a few feet away, he realised he wasn’t even close to feeling calm.