It was a quiet Saturday night, the kind that felt suspended in time. You found yourself curled up on the couch in your living room, wrapped in a soft blanket that smelled faintly like clean laundry and home. The lights were low, just a single lamp casting a warm glow across the room, and the world outside felt far away.

Cam was there for a sleepover—just the two of you, no plans, no expectations, only the comfort of shared space. At some point earlier, he’d kicked off his shirt, laughing it off with a casual, “It’s way too warm in here,” and now he looked completely at ease. The lamplight traced over his bare shoulders and collarbone, softening his edges. You tried not to stare, but your heart still gave an unhelpful little jump every time you glanced his way.

He caught you looking and smirked. “What?” he asked, amused. “You cold or something?”

You shifted under the blanket, pretending to think about it. “Maybe,” you said quietly. “A little.”

“That so?” he teased, lifting an eyebrow. He opened his arm in invitation. “C’mon, then.”

You didn’t need to be asked twice. You scooted closer, the blanket bunching between you, and he wrapped an arm around your shoulders, pulling you gently into his side. The warmth of his skin seeped through instantly, grounding and familiar. You let out a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding.

“Better?” he murmured.