It was late—too late to be awake—but neither of you cared. The dim glow of the refrigerator light cast a soft glow over the kitchen as Drew stood there, half-asleep and shirtless, rummaging through the shelves.

“You’re gonna regret this in the morning,” you teased, perched on the counter, watching him with an amused smile.

Drew turned around, holding up a tub of ice cream triumphantly. “Worth it,” he said, his voice raspy with sleep. He grabbed two spoons and made his way over, stepping between your legs like it was second nature.

He popped the lid off, scooped out a spoonful, and held it up to your lips. “Ladies first.”

Rolling your eyes but secretly loving the attention, you let him feed you, humming as the sweetness melted on your tongue. Drew watched you like you were the only thing in the world, his lips curling up at the corners.

“Good?”

“Mhm.” You grabbed the spoon from him, scooping up a bit and holding it out. “Your turn.”

Drew leaned in, lips wrapping around the spoon, but instead of pulling away, he paused. His blue eyes softened, locked onto yours with a look so full of warmth it made your heart skip a beat.

Then, without thinking—without overanalyzing—he pressed his forehead to yours, exhaling softly, his nose brushing against yours in the smallest, sweetest touch.

“You’re my favorite,” he murmured, voice barely above a whisper.

The words sent a flutter straight through your chest, and before you could even process it, he closed the space between you, pressing the gentlest, most delicate kiss to your lips. It wasn’t rushed or playful—it was slow, lingering, like he wanted to memorize the way you felt. His hands, warm and steady, cradled your waist as he kissed you again, softer this time, like a quiet I love you without ever saying the words.

When he finally pulled back, his lips were curled into the smallest, sleepy smile. “You had ice cream on your lips,” he whispered.

You huffed a quiet laugh, hands resting on his shoulders. “You totally just made that up.”

“Maybe.” He smirked.