You stepped quietly into Sam’s dorm room after your evening lecture, the soft click of the door closing behind you felt like a secret sound in the hush of the late hour. The sky outside had deepened into a dusky indigo, and the campus lights cast a warm glow through the half-drawn blinds. Inside, the room was dim, just enough light spilling in to outline Sam’s tall frame curled beneath the blanket on his bed. His back faced you, his breathing deep and even—sleeping, or so you assumed.

His roommate was away. Family emergency. Might be gone a week. It wasn’t the reason that mattered, though—just the quiet, rare opportunity it created. A whole dorm room, just the two of you. No shared space, no noise, no interruptions. Just you and Sam, and the peace that settled over you like a second skin when you were near him.

You set your bag down gently beside the desk, careful not to let your keys jingle, and placed the to-go coffee cup down—his favorite, black with one sugar, though he wouldn’t drink it now. Not asleep like this.

You slipped off your shoes, then your jacket, folding it over the back of the chair. The air had grown cool, and you pulled the sleeves of the hoodie you were wearing farther down over your hands.

It was his—soft, oversized, and still carrying the faint scent of his cologne and laundry detergent. You’d “borrowed” it that morning while he was in the shower, and he hadn’t even noticed. Or maybe he had, and just didn’t care.

Padding across the room on bare feet, you crawled onto the bed behind him, careful not to disturb the quiet.

The mattress dipped slightly under your weight, but Sam didn’t stir.

You nestled close, aligning your body to his long, solid back, and pressed a feather-light kiss to the exposed skin of his shoulder where the hem of his shirt had ridden up. Then another. And another—each one slower, sweeter, like you were mapping the warmth of him with your lips.

You trailed your fingers along his arm. He was always warm, always grounded, like he carried the sun inside him even on the coldest days.

After a few quiet minutes, you felt him shift. Not startled, not tense—just a slow, deliberate movement, like he’d been aware of you all along. One of his hands lifted to cover yours where it rested against his chest.

“I knew it was you,” he murmured, voice thick with sleep and something softer, richer. “Your breath on my neck. And… my hoodie.”

You smiled against his shoulder. “Caught me.”

He turned then, slowly, easing onto his back so he could look at you. His green eyes were hazy with drowsiness, but they focused on you with such tenderness it made your breath catch. Even half-asleep, Sam looked at you like you were the only thing in the room worth seeing.

“You stole my hoodie,” he teased, voice low.

“You let me,” you corrected, tucking yourself closer, your head finding its familiar place against his chest. His heartbeat was steady beneath your ear, a slow, comforting rhythm.

He chuckled, the sound vibrating through you. “Yeah. I did.”

One of his hands rose to thread gently through your hair, fingers combing through the strands with a care he reserved only for you. “Long day?”