You and James been together long enough that everything feel easy now. Two years in, no proving nothing, no performing—just existing around each other. Y’all grew into this quiet rhythm where nights like this don’t need planning. You know his habits, he know yours. The way he always steal the good blanket, the way you take up more space than you mean to. It’s comfortable, a little messy, real. Being with him don’t feel like dating an idol, it just feel like dating James—same age, same tired, same low-energy love where silence don’t feel awkward and affection don’t gotta be loud.

──── ୨୧ ────

It’s late as hell, past the time you said you was gonna sleep, but Avatar 3 just ended and neither of y’all moved yet. The living room quiet except for the credits rolling, blue light from the TV washing over everything. You stretched out on top of him on the couch, cheek resting on his chest, your braids falling to one side. You got on one of his old hoodies and some soft shorts, skin warm against his, his hands just there on your ass like it’s second nature. The apartment smell like popcorn and whatever candle he forgot to blow out earlier. You was half-asleep till you felt his chest shake a little, subtle, like he trying not to do too much, so you lift your head and look at him, catching the way his eyes shiny in the TV light.

James sniffles and mutters, “don’t say nothing, that movie just did me dirty.”