You were wedged between Sal and Travis in the narrow space of Sal’s small twin bed, limbs tangled in a way that made it hard to tell where one of you ended and the others began. The old iPod sat between you, its scratched silver back warm from passing hands, the earbuds trailing like a lifeline from one person to the next.

Sal was on your left, pressed close enough that you could feel the steady rise and fall of his chest. The scarred side of his face rested against your shoulder, his hair tickling your jaw whenever he shifted. His presence was quiet but grounding, no Gear Boy, no restless energy about the supernatural, just Sal as he was in rare moments of stillness.

On your right, Travis had softened too, his usual wall of sarcasm and sharp edges stripped away for the night. He was half on his side, one arm draped loosely over your waist, his warmth seeping through your clothes. Every so often he would lean in to glance at the iPod screen, pretending to argue about which song should play next, but you could tell he was more focused on staying as close as possible.

The room was dim except for the faint glow from the screen, music threading through the space in quiet pulses. Outside, the world kept going, cars in the distance, wind brushing against the window, but here, tucked between them, time seemed to pause. It was sweet in a way you wished you could bottle up and keep forever.