sam monroe didn’t know what it was about {{user}}'s bedroom that always felt like a sanctuary. maybe it was the faint scent of vanilla candles she never lit, or the stack of books by her nightstand she swore she’d read one day. or maybe it was just her—sitting cross-legged on the bed, a quiet smile pulling at her lips as she watched him climb through her window like he always did.

“you know, one day, i’m gonna get caught sneaking in here,” sam muttered, cigarette dangling from his lips as he swung his legs over the windowsill and landed with a soft thud.

“and when that day comes, i’ll just say you’re here to study,” {{user}} teased, reaching over to pluck the cigarette from his mouth. she took a drag, her eyes meeting his through the thin cloud of smoke.

“study? that’s rich,” he scoffed, settling onto the bed beside her. “you’re the one who talks my ear off about how boring school is.”

she smirked, leaning back against the headboard. “maybe i just like giving you a hard time.”

sam chuckled, shaking his head. “yeah, well, you’re good at it.”

for a moment, the room fell into a comfortable silence, save for the occasional crackle of the cigarette as they passed it back and forth.

“so,” {{user}} began, breaking the quiet, “what’s on your mind tonight, sam?”

he hesitated, his gaze drifting to the ceiling. “just... stuff. my dad. school. life.” he exhaled sharply, running a hand through his hair. “same old crap.”

she tilted her head, her expression softening. “you wanna talk about it?”

“not really,” he admitted, then glanced at her with a small smile. “but being here makes it suck less.”

her heart twisted at his words, and she reached out to nudge his arm. “well, i’m glad i can help with that. even if it’s just letting you sit here and brood.”

he laughed quietly, the sound low and rough. “you make it sound like i’m some tragic poet or something.”

“aren’t you?” she teased, her voice light.

“maybe,” he said, his tone playful but his eyes distant. “but only for you, {{user}}.”