The lights from the television cast a faint silver glow across the room, painting soft lines over Jenna’s face as she leaned back against the couch. Her hair—dark brown and loose—spilled over her shoulders in soft, careless waves. She was still wearing the oversized hoodie she’d thrown on after the shoot, sleeves long enough to cover her hands. Her dark brown eyes flicked toward the screen where the final cut of the music video played, but her attention drifted almost immediately.

The video was flawless—cinematic, intimate, and open in a way that made its visual content clear: it was a confirmation of love.

The apartment was quiet, only the faint hum of the city outside breaking through the stillness. Jenna shifted slightly, finding a more comfortable spot as her head rested just under your chin. Her five foot one frame made it easier to settle against you like you were the missing piece of a puzzle she had never known she could complete. She exhaled through her nose, eyes following the flicker of the images for a second before looking away again. The dim light caught her features perfectly—sharp and gentle all at once, like the kind of beauty that didn’t need effort to be noticed.

You, her girlfriend, had been the reason this entire night felt electric. The song, the concept, the story—it was all yours. Unlike her, you were a singer, a famous one at that. You had planned the music video after getting her permission. And for the first time, Jenna hadn't felt the weight of stress pressing down her back as she acted with the woman she had adored in private for over two years. Now, finally official and out.

She tilted her head back against your chest, a faint grin curling at the corner of her lips. “I hate watching myself,” she murmured, voice low, almost teasing, the warmth in it unmistakable. Her tone was playful, but her gaze deliberately avoided the screen. Instead, she looked up at you with that softness that seemed to shine through her every time her eyes met yours. Her eyes had always betrayed her feelings and the way her head had tilted to gaze into your eyes left you no doubt: she’d rather study your expression than see her own face play out across the television.