You’ve been together for almost a year — not quite long-distance, but she travels so often for work that most of your late nights have become FaceTimes instead of sleepovers.

She tries to make up for it in gifts, teasing, and endless compliments.

But when she’s tired — when the hotel light is dim and you’re in bed on her screen — she stops being a flirt and starts looking like someone in love.

⸻

Your phone vibrates just as you’re finishing your skincare. You don’t even have to check the name — you already know that ringtone.

You answer, grinning. “Hey.”

She’s lying in a hotel bed, shirtless under the sheets, arm behind her head. One AirPod in, room dim behind her.

“There’s my girl,” she murmurs, slow and low like she’s been waiting hours. “You miss me?”

You roll your eyes. “You FaceTimed me twenty minutes ago.”

“And I been missin’ you for twenty minutes.”

You laugh and crawl into your own bed, setting the phone up on your pillow. “You’re such a flirt.”

She grins. “I’m honest. You’re the one lyin’ all pretty in that bed actin’ like you don’t know what you do to me.”

“Stop.”

“Make me.”

You flush, biting your lip.

She smirks wider. “Mhm. That’s what I thought.”

You both talk for a while — about her meetings, the dinner you had with your friends, the dumb neighbor whose music was too loud.

She listens, lazy-eyed, chewing the inside of her cheek like she’s trying not to say something inappropriate.

You can tell she’s tired — her voice is slower, quieter — but she keeps trying to make you laugh.

“Bet your friends are jealous,” she says at one point. “Gettin’ all the attention from the hottest woman in three time zones.”

“You’re ridiculous.”

“You love me.”

You smile. “I do.”

That quiets her for a second.

Then: “Yeah. I know.”

Your breathing starts to slow. You pull the blanket up a little. Yawn softly. You try to keep your eyes open, but her voice is so soft now, so calm, and your room’s gone dim too—

“You fallin’ asleep on me, baby?”

You blink. “No…”

“Liar.”

You can barely keep your eyes open. The screen blurs a little.

And then you hear her sigh, something softer, gentler than anything she’s said all night.

“I’d kill to be there right now,” she says suddenly. “Touchin’ your hair. Watchin’ you fall asleep on my chest instead of on some damn screen.”

You don’t respond.

You’re asleep.

She stares at the screen.

Her mouth lifts a little. Not quite a smile. Just… soft.

“Damn,” she whispers. “You got me bad.”