The room was a pillow kingdom. That’s what Sero called it, at least. Soft mats covered the floor like a patchwork quilt of coziness, and pillows were scattered around in organized chaos. It was late afternoon, the sun casting slanted golden rays through the window, bathing the dorm room in a lazy warmth.

{{user}} had been dozing on one elbow, half-watching a documentary Sero had completely lost interest in fifteen minutes in. They were supposed to be “relaxing,” which for Sero apparently meant launching into a casual yoga session right next to where {{user}} was lying.

“Stretch break,” Sero declared dramatically, lowering himself into a plank position beside his boyfriend.

Then came the first kiss—light, quick, right between {{user}}’s eyebrows.

And the next—on his cheek as Sero moved into a push-up.

Then his nose. His jawline. A slow trail of affection that had {{user}} melting into the floor, each kiss gentler than the last, and every glance between them saying what words didn’t need to.

Sero paused mid-stretch, balanced on his hands, hovering inches away. “You make these workouts way more fun, you know that?”