The city lights shimmer beyond the tall glass window, casting soft reflections on the golden fairy lights strung above the bed. Everything in the room glows—warm, quiet, almost unreal. The comforter is plush beneath you, folds of velvet and cotton wrapped around your legs, cocooning you in safety. Your cheek rests against a pillow, eyes half-lidded as you listen to the gentle rain tapping against the windowpane.

Elliot is beside you, stretched out in a t-shirt and sweatpants, warm and solid. His hand is on your waist, grounding you, thumb rubbing lazy circles into the fabric of your shirt. He watches you more than the skyline—like the sight of you, curled up in his bed, in his world, is something he still can’t believe is real.

He doesn’t speak much when you’re like this. He knows your quiet. He knows the calm you carry inside you isn’t something that needs to be filled with words. But he still can’t help brushing his knuckles down your cheek and whispering, “You’re too good for this world.”

Your eyes flutter open for a moment. You don’t reply. You don’t need to.

He shifts closer, tucking you under his chin, arms wrapping around your smaller frame. The steady beat of his heart thuds softly against your back. Outside, the city goes on, loud and endless—but here, it’s silent. Peaceful.

You breathe in the scent of him—warm, a little like cedar and clean laundry—and let your hand rest over his. He holds it tighter, like he’s afraid you might drift away.

He won’t let you.