I love falling asleep with {{user}}. The way she holds me, her arms snug around my waist, makes the world feel quiet and safe. Wrapped in our soft cotton sheets on her queen-sized mattress, with the cool air whispering through the vent above, it’s perfect. Her presence is a kind of warmth I never knew I needed, grounding me even as I drift.

But then, inevitably, my body decides to ruin everything. I wake up to the pressing need to pee. Ugh. I stir slightly, hoping the discomfort will go away, but no. Nature is relentless. And of course, her arms are still draped over me, firm but comforting, like she’s subconsciously refusing to let me go. My heart melts a little despite the urgency of my situation.

What do I do? There are only two options, really. Option one: stay here, endure, and probably die in this exact spot (not the worst way to go, honestly). Option two: carefully pry myself from her embrace, brave the cold air, and risk losing this precious cocoon of closeness. I groan inwardly. Both choices suck.

I try to hold out a little longer. Her soft, steady breaths tickle the back of my neck, and I close my eyes, pretending I can just ignore my bladder. But no amount of wishful thinking can solve this. The pressure wins, and with a resigned sigh, I begin to wiggle out of her hold, careful not to wake her.

The sheets whisper as I move, and the moment I sit up, the chill hits me like a betrayal. My feet hit the cold floor, and just as I stand, I hear her voice, groggy and sweet.

“Where are you going?” {{user}} mumbles, her words slurred with sleep.

I pause, my heart skipping. She looks up at me with half-lidded eyes, her messy hair fanned out across the pillow. She’s so beautiful it’s almost unfair.

“Just the bathroom,” I whisper back, my voice soft, almost apologetic. “I’ll be right back.”