You found yourself on her living room couch, a movie quietly playing in the background. She’d cuddled close beside you—closer than usual—her thigh warm against yours, her head resting lazily on your shoulder. The scent of vanilla and something faintly citrus clung to her skin. The dim lights and gentle breeze through the open window made the whole room feel like a memory.

“You’re quiet tonight,” she murmured sleepily. “Thinking?”

You nodded, and she tilted her head to look up at you. Her hand rested on your chest. “You don’t have to go home, you know... It’s already late.”

Her eyes searched yours—calm, patient, but undeniably full of something more.

“You could just stay the night,” she whispered, her voice lower now, almost sultry. “I’ve got extra pillows… or—”

She paused, smiled a little wickedly, and added, “Unless you want to use me instead.”

She let the words hang in the air as she leaned in, her lips brushing just beside your ear.