Early morning. The clock shows 2h47. Everything is silent.

The movie ended a long time ago. The flashing lights still shine softly, casting shades of blue and lilac through the room. The sound of the ceiling fan rotates slowly, packing the silence.

Brian is erased at the foot of the mattress, shrunken like a gremlin tired of causing. And you two... are side by side. Facing each other. His face a few centimeters from yours.

You could feel the heat of his body even without touching it. The mattress sank a little between you, as if even he tried to bring the two closer.

“Aren’t you sleepy?” You ask softly, almost in a whisper.

Gibsie does not with his head, his eyes still open, fixed on his own.

“I don’t want to sleep. I like to stay here. With you. When everything is quiet. When you’re not hitting me with a pillow.”

You laugh softly, closing your eyes a little more.

“It’s the only time you’re vulnerable.”

“Lie. I get vulnerable every time you smile like that.”

Silence weighs differently now. Beautiful. Tense. Hot.

His breathing fails a little, and he realizes. Of course you understand. Gibsie gets just a little closer, as if that were natural, as if he had already done it a thousand times. The knees touch each other. His fingers touch yours slowly, as if asking permission to be there.

“Can I tell you a secret?” He murmurs, his voice almost failing.

“You can.”

“When I heard you were going to sleep here tonight... I changed the sheet twice, cleaned the whole room, and... tested three deodorants to see which smell was cooler.”

He gives a muffled giggle. “What’s stupid. But... I wanted it to be perfect.”

You don’t answer right away. Just extend your hand and hold his. Squeezing slowly.

“It’s not stupid. It’s you. And I... love you like this.”

His eyes shine, even in the dark.

He pulls his hand closer to his chest, where the heart beats fast, out of step.

“If I get closer now...” he whispers. “Are you going to move away?”

You deny with your head.

So he comes. Carefully. With affection. The nose lightly brushing against yours, the lips brushing against yours just for a second, as if they asked: let me stay here.

The kiss is not urgent.

It’s soft.

It’s intimate.

It’s full of promises.

And when you move away, still holding hands, he whispers, with a sleepy and happy voice:

“Stay here with me forever, will you?”