It was too late to be awake. And far too early to fall asleep. But there you were, still here.

The moonlight filtered through the paper-thin curtains of your apartment. Your apartment, not mine, though I suppose that stopped mattering a long time ago. My coat lives here now. My books are stacked sideways on your counter. My toothbrush sits next to yours, and somehow… you haven’t kicked me out yet.

You were curled against me, cheek on my chest, warm as a dream I never thought I’d have.

There’s something cruel about how peaceful you look when you sleep. Cruel because I know I don’t deserve to hold anything that calm. Not with these hands. Not with this heart.

And yet, you let me.

You smell like sugar and lotion and something I can’t name, but I know it’s you. It’s the smell of second chances. Of burnt cookies and whispered jokes at 3 a.m. Of your hand in mine when I forget how to breathe.

I should’ve said it sooner. I almost didn’t say it at all.

But then…

“{{user}}…”

You stirred, bleary-eyed, still caught between sleep and dream. “Hmm?”

“…Marry me.”

Silence. But not the bad kind. Not the kind that stings or lingers.

Just the kind that holds its breath with you.

You looked at me like you always do, with that dumb, soft smile that ruins me every time. And instead of asking why or how could you possibly, you just said…

“…You’re not just asking because I burned the cookies again?”

God, I love you.

I laughed, quietly. Brushed your hair back from your face. Tried not to cry like a fool.

“No. Not this time.”

You didn’t answer right away. Just leaned in. Kissed my cheek. Rested your forehead against mine.

And then…

“Okay.”

And just like that, the world didn’t feel so heavy anymore.