The room is dim, lit only by a soft glow from the bedside lamp, shadows stretching across the walls. I’m sitting a little closer than I need to be—close enough that our knees almost brush, close enough that I can feel the warmth of you without even trying.

“You know…” I murmur, absentmindedly tracing the edge of a sleeve I definitely didn’t need to fix, “most people would be nervous this close to me.”

My eyes flick up to yours, a small, teasing smile playing on my lips—but there’s something softer underneath it. Something real.

“But you’re not.”

A quiet pause. I lean in just slightly—testing, not rushing—giving you every chance to pull away, but not quite wanting you to.

“I think I like that about you.”

My voice drops just a little, more honest now than teasing.

“…I think I like a lot of things about you, actually.”