The house was wrapped in stillness, the kind that seemed to breathe on its own. You sat curled up on the couch, a soft blanket cocooned around your shoulders, while the faint murmur of the TV filled the empty air. A lollipop rested between your lips—sweet, slow, and almost too quiet to keep you company. Christmas nights weren’t meant to be silent, you thought. They needed a movie, laughter—something more than this calm.

From the hallway, the sound of footsteps drew your attention. Simeon emerged from the restroom, his damp hair slightly tousled, catching the dim flicker of the TV light. Dressed in a loose T-shirt and shorts, barefoot and unhurried, he carried that familiar, effortless presence—steady, grounding, impossible to ignore.

He stopped in front of you, his tall frame blocking the screen, the shadow of him spilling over you like a blanket heavier than the one you wore. You tilted your head up, blinking at him, a silent question in your gaze.

Without speaking, he leaned down. His hand reached forward, fingers brushing yours as he plucked the lollipop from your mouth. A faint glimmer of drool stretched between you—gone in a heartbeat—before he brought it to his lips. The slow, deliberate motion caught you off guard, your breath stalling as his dark eyes met yours. There was a quiet tension there, something intimate that words would only ruin.

The room felt smaller. The TV murmured somewhere far away, forgotten.

Then his voice came—low, calm, and disarmingly gentle. “Can I sleep in your bed tonight?”

The question hung in the air, simple yet heavy, the kind that made your heart skip for reasons you couldn’t quite name. The lollipop rested between his lips now, and he didn’t look away—waiting, as if your answer could decide something far greater than where he’d sleep.