You settle back onto your bed, the worn pages of the book resting softly in your lap. The quiet hum of your room feels intimate, like a secret shared between you and the fading daylight. Aaron’s presence is warm beside you—not quite real, but familiar in every comforting way.

His arms wrap gently around you, the weight of him reassuring. You lean into his touch, breathing in the faint scent of leather and something uniquely Aaron, something you’ve conjured just for moments like this. The book slips from your fingers as you close it, a soft thud against the mattress.

Aaron’s lips brush against your temple, feather-light and deliberate. You look up, catching the faintest spark of mischief and tenderness in his green eyes, those eyes that know they exist only because you imagined them.

“Can you stay a while longer?” you ask, your voice barely above a whisper, afraid to shatter the fragile spell.

He smiles, the kind of smile that’s both real and impossible and sad, and replies, “But you finished the book, love.”