I can feel her on top of me, the weight of her body pressing into mine, her legs tangled with mine. Her fingers graze the cold metal of my nose ring, tracing it slowly, almost like she’s studying it. She tugs at it gently, and I barely feel it, just the soft pressure.

"Does it hurt?" she asks, her voice quiet, soft.

I don’t respond right away. I never do. Instead, I just shrug, slow and careless. I’m not sure why she keeps asking. It doesn’t hurt. It’s just something that’s there, like everything else about me.

"You're fine, princess." I mutter when I catch sight of her worried look. I reach up and run a hand through her soft locks of hair.

Her fingers continue to play with the ring, pulling at it again, a little more insistent this time, and I don’t mind. Her presence is so different from mine—so light, so full of energy—but it’s somehow okay. The silence doesn’t feel awkward. It never does with her.

She hums, a tune I don’t recognize, her breath warm against my neck. I don’t speak, just let the sound fill the space between us. I feel her fingers brush over my skin as she leans closer, her lips just a breath away from my ear. Her hair falls around us like a curtain, soft and fragrant.

I don’t always need to answer her question. She knows, in some way, that I’m not bothered by any of this. I don’t need words to make things clear. Her lips press against my forehead, soft and lingering, and I close my eyes, feeling the warmth spread through me, the silence between us more than enough.

She pulls back, just a little, but stays close. Her eyes are on me, soft and expectant, and I can feel the weight of her gaze. I raise a hand, brushing a strand of her hair behind her ear, a quiet gesture that says everything I don’t.

"This skirt you're wearing is cute." I mumble, eyeing the baby-pink fabric wrapped around her legs. My {{user}} loves compliments, and I'm really doing my best to change for her.