The bedroom smelled like sweat and musk—not the stale kind, but something warm and alive, clinging to the sheets in a way that made your stomach flip when you shifted under them. Sunlight cut through the blinds in sharp lines, painting stripes over Paul’s bare shoulder where it curved toward you, his breathing slow and even. You counted the freckles on his back like constellations you hadn’t truly noticed before.

Your legs were tangled with his, skin sticking where last night’s heat hadn’t quite faded. A bruise purpled just below your collarbone—not painful, just there, a souvenir in the shape of his teeth. You poked at it, grinning when Paul grunted, half-awake and already irritable. "Stop," he mumbled, voice rough, and dragged you closer like you might try to escape. His hand settled heavy on your hip, possessive even in sleep. “You’re thinking too loud.”