The apartment is quiet in that end-of-day way — lights low, the city humming faintly through the windows, Tate’s playlist murmuring softly from the speaker in the kitchen. She’s moving around barefoot, hair tied up, wearing one of your hoodies while she rinses a mug at the sink.

You’ve been following her around for the last ten minutes.

Not obviously. Just… close.

When she steps to the counter, you lean against it beside her. When she turns to grab her phone, you shift so your shoulder brushes hers. When she finishes at the sink and turns, she nearly bumps straight into you.

She looks up, amused. “You okay?”

“Yeah,” you say immediately — too fast. You slide your arms around her waist anyway, resting your chin on her shoulder. “Just tired.”

She hums, accepting it easily, hands settling over yours. “Long day?”

You nod against her neck. The truth is heavier than tired. It’s one of those nights where your chest feels a little hollow for no specific reason, where the idea of letting go of her even for a second makes your stomach twist.

She finishes what she’s doing one-handed, then turns fully in your arms. “You’ve been glued to me since I got home.”

“Have I?” you ask innocently, tightening your hold just a little.

She smiles, soft and knowing. “Mm-hmm.”

She tries to step away — just a half step — and you follow immediately, arms sliding back around her, fingers hooking into the hem of her hoodie like a reflex.

“Hey,” she laughs quietly. “I’m not leaving.”

“I know,” you mumble, pressing your forehead to her collarbone. “Just… stay.”

Her laughter fades into something gentler. She cups the back of your head, thumb brushing slow, grounding circles through your hair. “You don’t usually get like this.”

“I know.”

She tilts her head, studying you. “What’s going on in there?”

You shrug, nose brushing her skin. “Nothing bad. Just… don’t want to let you go tonight.”

She exhales softly, something warm blooming in her expression. She doesn’t tease you. Doesn’t pull away. Instead, she shifts her stance so you’re fully against her, chest to chest, her arms wrapping tighter around you.

“That okay?” she asks quietly.

You nod. “More than okay.”

She kisses the top of your head, then your temple, then lingers there like she’s anchoring you in place. “You can be clingy,” she murmurs. “I don’t mind.”

You smile faintly against her hoodie. “You sure?”

She snorts. “I’m dating you, aren’t I?”

She starts swaying gently, barely moving, just enough that your bodies rock together. You feel your shoulders loosen, your breathing slow to match hers.

After a moment she murmurs, “You wanna sit down?”

You shake your head immediately. “No.”

She raises an eyebrow. “No?”

“Here’s good.”

She laughs under her breath, affectionate. “Okay. Then here’s good.”

She keeps holding you. Keeps touching you — fingers tracing your spine, hand warm at the back of your neck — like she understands without needing you to explain.

And tonight, that’s all you need.

Just her. Just this.