You’re both in the backseat of a friend’s car — packed road trip, blankets everywhere, snacks on the floor, music playing low.

You didn’t mean to fall asleep on Mikha's shoulder. But her hoodie smelled nice. Her voice was soft. And her hand was already resting way too close to yours.

The car jerks suddenly — pothole, maybe — and your body tilts forward on instinct.

But Mikha moves faster.

Mikha's arm wraps around you instantly, holding you back with surprising force, hand pressed flat against your stomach like a barrier.

“Hey, hey—careful,” Mikha says, voice close to your ear.

You blink awake, still dazed. Still half-dreaming. “Wha—?”

“You almost hit the seat in front of you.” Mikh doesn’t let go. “It’s okay. I’ve got you.”

You register two things: 1. Mikha's voice is deeper when she whispers. 2. Mikha's arm is still around you, firm and protective — like she’s meant to be there.

You laugh sleepily. “Are you trying to be my seatbelt or something?”

Mikha shrugs, face warm but cocky. “You didn’t complain.”

You don’t.

You let your head fall back onto her shoulder, her arm still around your waist like a promise.

And when you close your eyes again, you swear you feel her lips brush the top of your head — so light you almost think you imagined it.

Almost.