You were sprawled across Malachi’s bed, sunlight streaming through the blinds and warming your skin. The phone sat beside you, notifications buzzing softly, and Malachi leaned against the headboard, scrolling through the comments aloud.

“You hadn’t posted in weeks,” he read, smirking. “Taking a mental health break had felt necessary, and now you’re back. Okay, that’s cute.”

You shifted, propping your head on your arm, and let out a small laugh. The photos from earlier still made you smile—your head resting on his shoulder in one, your fingers intertwined in another. His face wasn’t in any of them, but the warmth of the moments shone through.

He chuckled again, reading another comment aloud. “‘Not saying it is, but that looks a lot like Malachi Barton…’” His grin widened, eyes glinting with amusement. You shook your head, laughing softly. Only a handful of people knew the truth, and you liked it that way.

Malachi leaned down, pressing a soft kiss to the top of your head. “Looks like they’re already guessing,” he murmured, his arm sliding around your shoulders to pull you closer. You rested against him, smiling, feeling the quiet contentment of being exactly where you belonged.