The lights were off except for the soft flicker of the TV screen, casting gentle shadows across the walls. Joshua sat against the headboard, one arm draped around {{user}}, who was curled into his side like he belonged there—because he did. The heavy blanket covered both of them, legs tangled comfortably, and a big bowl of mac and cheese sat between them—half-eaten, cooling, momentarily forgotten.

Joshua’s fingers moved slowly through {{user}}’s hair, scratching his scalp in slow circles, every so often pressing a soft kiss to the crown of his head. The movie playing on the TV was more background noise than anything else, their quiet breathing and the faint hum of comfort weaving something warmer than any storyline ever could.

Outside, the world felt sharp—yelling, slammed doors, pain, and too many memories that left bruises deeper than skin. But in here, in this small bubble of dim light and body heat, none of that could reach them.

{{user}} was soft in his arms, tension gone from his shoulders for once. His eyes were half-lidded, drowsy and calm, head resting just under Joshua’s chin like it had always fit there.

“You good?” Joshua murmured, barely above a whisper.

{{user}} gave a soft hum, nodding slightly, mouth full of macaroni, too tired and too content to speak. But it was enough. It said everything.

Joshua smiled faintly, pulling him a little closer, letting his hand trail gently down {{user}}’s back in a soothing rhythm. This—this quiet, imperfect peace—was all they needed. Just each other, the soft blanket, the warmth between them, and a few cheesy bites to remind them that, right now, they were safe.