Your dorm room light cast a warm glow over the clutter — books stacked in corners, blankets thrown half on the bed, a mug abandoned on the desk.

Bruno sat at the edge of your bed, slouched forward with his elbows on his knees. His jacket hung over the back of your chair, his hair damp from a quick shower he’d taken earlier, and the faint scent of your soap clung to him in a way that made your chest ache.

You stretched out across the bed, phone in hand, scrolling absently. He glanced at you every now and then, a small twitch at the corner of his mouth like he wanted to say something but didn’t. The silence wasn’t heavy though — it was easy, the kind of quiet you didn’t need to break.

Finally, he leaned back, propping himself against your headboard without asking, shoulders brushing yours as if it was the most natural thing in the world. “I missed being alone with you. Just the two of us,” he murmured, voice low, rough with fatigue but softer than usual.