The stale air of Tyler's room hit her skin first—that mix of old pizza and laundry musk and something piney from his deodorant. His twin bed groaned under her weight as he laid her back, the thin mattress dipping, his hands shaking where they gripped the hem of her crop top.
She watched him lift it over her head. The fabric caught on her hair and he froze, fingers tangling in the strands, his breath going shallow as her breasts came into view. Her nipples tightened in the cool air and she saw his throat move, the way he swallowed hard.
"Y-you're so—" He stopped. Couldn't finish.
She reached up and pulled him down to her.
His mouth found her neck, then her collarbone, then lower. He pressed kisses along her sternum, her ribs, the underside of each breast, and she felt his stutter vibrate against her skin before he could form the words. His hands slid to her jeans, popping the button, dragging the zipper down slow enough that the sound filled the room.
She lifted her hips and he pulled them off, denim scraping her thighs, leaving her in nothing but her thong. The waistband sat low on her hips, the little triangle of fabric doing nothing to hide her.
His breath hitched. "T-Tina."
"Yeah."
"I—I've thought about this. Y-you riding me. I've—" His ears burned crimson. "I've imagined it. A lot."
Her chest went tight. She sat up slowly, her fingers finding the waistband of his boxers, pushing them down his thighs. His cock sprang free, thick and hard, already glistening at the tip, and she felt her mouth go dry.
"You want me on top?"
He nodded, his stutter choking him silent.
She swung her leg over him, her knees sinking into the thin mattress on either side of his hips. She guided the head of him to her entrance, let it press against her, wet and warm, and then she sank down in one slow motion.
His hands flew to her hips. A sound came out of him—low, broken, almost a sob.
She took a breath. Let her body adjust to the stretch of him, to the way he filled her completely, to the pulse of her own heartbeat in her clit. Then she moved.
Up, slow. Down, harder. Her breasts bounced with the rhythm, and she saw his eyes lock onto them, his hands rising, cupping her, his thumbs finding her nipples and rolling them between his fingers until she gasped.
"Like that," she breathed. "Don't stop."
He didn't. He pinched and pulled and twisted, and she rode him faster, the bed frame knocking against the wall, her thighs burning, sweat slicking her skin. She leaned forward, pressing her palms flat against his chest, feeling his heart hammering under her hands. He was stuttering something—her name, over and over—and she watched his face twist, watched his back arch, watched him come undone underneath her.
She kept going through his orgasm, through the way his fingers dug into her hips hard enough to bruise, and when he softened inside her she finally stilled, collapsing against his chest, her breath ragged against his neck.
Hours passed. She lost count of how many times they moved together—her on top, then on her back, then on her stomach, his body pressed against hers in every angle the small bed could hold. The window went dark. The streetlights came on. Her voice went hoarse from crying out his name.
At some point she fell asleep tangled in his limbs, his arm locked around her waist, his breath warm against the back of her neck.
—
Morning light filtered through her leopard print curtains, casting gold spots across her bedspread. Tina blinked awake slowly, her body sore in a way that made her smile against her pillow. She rolled over.
Tyler lay beside her, his chest bare, his face slack with sleep. The scar through his eyebrow was soft in the morning light, almost invisible. His lips were slightly parted, his breathing deep and even.
Her heart skipped.
She couldn't believe he was here. That he'd stayed. That she finally had him—not as a fantasy, not as a target, but as hers. She watched his chest rise and fall, watched the way his fingers twitched against the blanket, and a warmth spread through her that had nothing to do with sex.
She slid under the covers. Her naked body stretched against his, her breasts pressing into his ribs, her thighs slotting against his. She was warm and soft and she wanted to be as close to him as physically possible.
He shifted in his sleep. His arm reached for her, his hand finding her waist, then sliding lower, groping her ass in an unconscious grip. She let out a soft laugh against his chest.
"Mmm." His voice was rough with sleep. "Tina?"
"Morning."
He blinked his eyes open. For a second he looked confused, then his face split into a smile so pure it made her chest ache.
"G-good morning," he stuttered, his voice cracking.
Then he flipped her over.
His hands were still heavy with sleep, but his body moved with a confidence that made her gasp. He pushed her onto her stomach, then pulled her up until she was on her hands and knees, her ass in the air, her cheek pressed against the pillow. He positioned himself behind her without a word.
He thrust into her.
She screamed. The sound was raw, surprised, pleasure ripping out of her throat. He was still thick from sleep, still hard from the night before, and he drove into her with a rhythm that was all his own—clumsy and hungry and desperate.
She loved it.
She loved this side of him—the one that didn't stutter, didn't hesitate, didn't ask permission. The raw, possessive, unfiltered version of Tyler that only came out when he was inside her.
"Y-you—" He stuttered even as he fucked her. "C-can I—"
He thrust harder, the words failing him.
She knew what he was asking. She'd felt him hesitate, his hand hovering near her ass.
"Slap it," she said, her voice breathless. "Please."
His hand came down hard on her left cheek. The crack echoed through the room, and she felt the sting bloom across her skin, felt her orgasm surge through her like a wave. Her pussy clenched around him so hard he gasped, his rhythm faltering.
He didn't stop. He pulled out of her, and she felt the head of him press against her asshole, slick from her own wetness, pressing in with a pressure that stole her breath.
He thrust in hard.
She went under.
The world went dark, and she floated somewhere outside herself, her body still moving beneath his, the rhythm of his hips pounding into her from a distance. She could hear him—his ragged breaths, his stuttered words—but they came from far away, like sound through water.
When she came back, she was coming. Her body convulsed around him, a second orgasm ripping through her without warning, and she heard herself scream his name. Her vision swam.
His fingers were at her nipples. Pinching. Hard. Too hard. She loved it. The pain cut through the haze, grounding her, keeping her present, keeping her his.
He kept fucking her. Switching between her pussy and her ass, one stroke in each, a rhythm that drove her insane. Her body was limp, wrung out, but she took every thrust, every pinch, every slap.
"T-Tyler," she whimpered, her voice wrecked.
He didn't answer. He just kept going, kept taking what she gave him, his stutter lost in the sound of their bodies together, the smell of sex and sweat and morning.
She came again. Her third time since waking. And when she finally collapsed face-first onto the leopard print blanket, her body shaking, her muscles spent, she felt him pull out and collapse beside her, his chest heaving, his hand finding hers under the tangled covers.
He kissed her shoulder. Soft. Tender. The same boy who'd just fucked her unconscious.
"I l-love you," he whispered against her skin.
Her heart stopped. Then started again, twice as fast.
She turned her head, looked at him. And smiled.
She turned fully toward him, her body still trembling, her skin slick with sweat and the aftermath of everything they'd done. His face was inches from hers, that soft, vulnerable expression he only let her see, and she felt the words rise from somewhere deep inside her chest—pure, unguarded, true.
"I love you too, Tyler." Her voice came out steady. Sure. Like she'd been waiting to say it her whole life.
His eyes widened. The stutter started in his throat—a soft, broken sound—but no words came. Instead he pulled her closer, pressing his forehead against hers, his breath warm and uneven against her lips.
"R-really?" he whispered.
She laughed, a soft, happy sound. "Really."
He kissed her. Gentle. Slow. A kiss that said everything his stutter couldn't. His hand cupped her cheek, his thumb tracing the line of her jaw, and she melted into him, her body fitting against his like it was made to.
When they broke apart, she was smiling so hard her cheeks hurt. She reached down and grabbed the edge of the leopard print blanket, pulling it up over both of them, cocooning them in warmth and the smell of sex and the faint vanilla of her body spray.
"Get under here with me," she said, tugging the blanket higher until it covered their shoulders.
He shifted, his body sliding against hers, and the movement brought his cock against her thigh—still half-hard, still warm. She felt the jolt run through him, saw the color rise in his cheeks.
"C-can you—" She bit her lip, suddenly shy despite everything they'd done. "Can you rest it inside me? Just—just like that? I want to feel you."
His whole face went red. Deep crimson, spreading from his neck to his ears. He looked down at her, his stutter choking him for a second before he managed, "Y-you want me to—"
"Just rest it," she said, her voice soft. "I don't want to move. I just want to feel you inside me while we talk."
He swallowed hard. Then he shifted, his hand finding her hip, guiding himself to her entrance. The head pressed against her wetness—she was still slick from earlier—and then he slid in, slow and careful, filling her completely without thrusting, just settling into the heat of her.
She let out a shaky breath. The feeling of him inside her without moving was different. Intimate. Like he was part of her.
His hands found her breasts, cupping them gently, his thumbs brushing over her nipples in soft, lazy circles. She arched into his touch, a quiet moan escaping her lips.
"Is this—is this okay?" he stuttered, his voice rough.
"Perfect," she breathed.
They lay there, tangled under the blanket, his cock resting deep inside her, his hands on her breasts, their foreheads touching. The room was quiet except for the hum of the ceiling fan and the distant sound of a lawnmower from next door.
"I never thought—" he started, then stopped. "I never thought someone like you would—"
"Someone like me?" She tilted her head, looking at him.
"Y-you're—" He gestured vaguely with his free hand. "You're Tina Star. You're the most beautiful girl in school. And I'm just—I'm just the nerd who stutters."
She reached up, her fingers tracing the scar through his eyebrow. "You're the boy who won first place at a math convention. You're the boy who stood up to those guys in the cafeteria. You're the boy who made me cum so hard I passed out."
He laughed, a low, embarrassed sound. "That's—that's different."
"It's not." She kissed his chin. "You're different. And I love you."
He stared at her for a long moment, his eyes searching hers. Then his hands tightened on her breasts, gently, and he pressed his forehead harder against hers.
"I l-love you too," he whispered. "I'm sorry I'm so bad at saying it."
"You're not bad at it." She smiled. "You just said it three times in the last ten minutes."
He blushed again, but he was smiling. He shifted slightly, and the movement made him slide deeper inside her. She gasped, her fingers digging into his shoulders.
"Sorry," he stuttered.
"Don't be sorry." She wrapped her legs around his waist, pulling him closer. "I like feeling you."
His hands moved from her breasts to her waist, tracing the curve of her hip, the dip of her spine. He was learning her body—every inch, every spot that made her shiver.
"T-Tina?"
"Yeah?"
"Can we—can we stay like this for a while?" His voice was small, almost shy. "I don't want to move. I just want to—to be inside you. And talk."
Her heart swelled. She kissed him, slow and deep, tasting herself on his lips.
"We can stay like this forever," she said against his mouth.
He smiled. A real, unguarded smile. And beneath the blanket, buried deep inside her, he held her close and let the world fall away.
"So tell me something I don't know about you." Her voice was soft, almost sleepy, her fingers tracing lazy patterns on his chest.
He stiffened slightly, his hand still cupping her breast, thumb brushing over her nipple in slow, absent circles. "L-like what?"
"I don't know. Something nerdy. Something you've never told anyone." She tilted her head up to look at him, her dark eyes warm in the dim light.
He was quiet for a long moment, his stutter working silently behind his lips. Then: "I—I used to collect bugs. When I was a kid. In jars. I had a whole shelf under my bed."
She laughed, but it was soft, not mocking. "Bugs? Like beetles and stuff?"
"Yeah. And—and moths. I liked moths. The big ones with the patterns on their wings." He smiled, a little embarrassed. "My mom threw them out when I was twelve. Said it was weird."
"It's not weird. It's—" She searched for the word. "It's sweet. You were curious about the world."
"I still am." His voice dropped, and he shifted slightly, the movement making him press deeper inside her. She gasped, her fingers digging into his shoulders.
"Careful," she breathed.
"S-sorry." But he didn't pull back. He stayed there, buried to the hilt, his forehead resting against hers.
"Don't be sorry," she whispered. "I like feeling you twitch."
He blushed, the red creeping up his neck. "You're—you're gonna make me—"
"Good." She kissed the corner of his mouth. "But later. Right now I want to know everything about you."
He swallowed. "Everything?"
"Everything. Your favorite color. Your worst memory. The thing you think about right before you fall asleep."
He was quiet again, his hand moving from her breast to her waist, tracing the curve of her hip. "Favorite color is blue. Like the sky after a storm. Worst memory is—" He stopped. "My dad leaving. I was eight. He said I was too much. Too quiet. Too weird."
Her heart ached. She pressed her lips to his collarbone. "He was wrong."
"I know. I—I know that now." His voice cracked. "Because you think I'm—you think I'm enough."
"More than enough." She pulled back to look at him, her hand cupping his cheek. "You're everything, Tyler."
His eyes glistened, but he blinked hard, refusing to let the tears fall. "And what I think about before I fall asleep is—" He took a shaky breath. "It used to be you. Before we were together. I'd imagine what it would be like to hold you. To hear you laugh. To—" He gestured vaguely with his free hand. "To be inside you."
She felt heat bloom in her chest, spreading through her like warm honey. "And now?"
"Now?" He smiled, a small, vulnerable thing. "Now I think about how I get to wake up next to you. How I get to hear you laugh for real. How I get to—" He thrust his hips forward, just a fraction, just enough to make her gasp. "Do this."
"Fuck, Tyler." She bit her lip, her thighs tightening around his waist.
"Is that—is that okay?"
"More than okay." She pulled his face to hers, kissing him deeply, her tongue sliding against his. He moaned into her mouth, his hips rocking against her in a slow, lazy rhythm that barely moved but felt like everything.
They kissed for a long time, his cock still buried inside her, the world reduced to the space between their lips. When they finally broke apart, both breathless, she tucked her head under his chin and pressed her ear to his chest, listening to his heartbeat.
"Tell me something else," she murmured.
He laughed, a low, genuine sound. "You're gonna run out of things to ask."
"Never." She nuzzled into him. "I want to know you until there's nothing left to know. And then I'll start over."
He was quiet for a moment. Then: "I used to cry in the bathroom at school. In middle school. The bullies—they'd call me names, shove me in the hall. I'd hide in a stall until the bell rang."
She lifted her head, her eyes searching his. "I'm sorry I didn't know you then. I would've—" She stopped. "I would've sat with you. Held your hand."
"You would've?" His voice was small.
"I would've fought anyone who looked at you wrong." She kissed his chest, right over his heart. "I would've made them regret ever touching you."
He stared at her, his expression unreadable. Then his hand found the back of her head, fingers threading through her hair, and he pulled her up to kiss her again—fiercer this time, hungrier. She moaned into his mouth, her hips grinding against him, and he responded in kind, thrusting deeper, harder, until her breath was coming in short, sharp gasps.
"T-Tina," he stuttered against her lips. "I—I need—"
"I know." She reached down between them, her fingers wrapping around the base of his cock, feeling where they were joined. "I need it too."
But they didn't move faster. Instead, he slowed, his thrusts becoming languid, deliberate. He watched her face, his eyes dark and full of something deeper than lust.
"I love you," he whispered. "I love you so much it scares me."
Her heart clenched. "I love you too. It scares me too."
He kissed her forehead. Then her nose. Then her lips, soft and tender. "Then we'll be scared together."
She smiled against his mouth. "Deal."
They lay there, moving slowly, his hands roaming her body—her breasts, her waist, the curve of her ass—touching her like she was something precious, something he was still afraid to believe was real. And she let him. She let him trace every inch of her skin, memorize the map of her body, learn the way she gasped when his fingers found the small of her back, the way she shuddered when he cupped her breast just so.
"Tell me about your mom," she said, her voice muffled against his shoulder.
He laughed, surprised. "My mom?"
"Yeah. What's she like?"
He thought for a moment, his hands still moving, still learning. "She's—she's loud. And she works too hard. She cleans houses. Comes home with her hands cracked and bleeding. But she still makes me dinner. Every night. And she—" He paused. "She cried when I told her about you. Said she never thought she'd see the day a girl like you would look twice at her son."
Tina's eyes burned. "I want to meet her."
He looked down at her, startled. "You—you do?"
"Of course I do. She raised you. She's the reason you're—" She gestured at him, at his body tangled with hers. "This. You."
He was quiet for a long moment. Then his arms tightened around her, pulling her closer, burying his face in her hair. "I'll call her tomorrow. She's gonna lose her mind."
Tina laughed, the sound vibrating through her chest and into his. "Good. I want her to like me."
"She already does. She sees how happy I am." He pressed a kiss to the top of her head. "She says I smile different now."
"Different how?"
"Like—" He pulled back to look at her, his eyes soft. "Like I'm not afraid anymore."
She reached up, her thumb tracing the scar through his eyebrow. "You shouldn't be. Not of me. Not ever."
"I know." He turned his head, kissing her palm. "I know."
The afternoon light shifted, the shadows lengthening across the walls. They talked for hours—about his childhood, her dreams of traveling, about the time she tried to dye her hair purple and it turned green instead. He told her about his favorite math theorem, and she pretended to understand, laughing when he caught her faking it.
His cock stayed inside her the whole time, softening and hardening in turns, but neither of them moved to separate. It felt natural, right—like they were two parts of the same whole, and separating would mean breaking something irreplaceable.
At some point, his eyes grew heavy, his stutter slowing as sleep crept into his voice. She watched him fight it, his lids drooping, his arms loosening around her.
"Sleep," she whispered. "I'll be here when you wake up."
"Promise?" His voice was barely audible, slurred with exhaustion.
"Promise." She kissed his eyelids, one then the other. "I'm not going anywhere, Tyler."
He smiled, small and trusting, and then his breathing evened out, his body going slack against hers. She lay there, feeling the weight of him, the warmth, the steady rhythm of his heart against her chest.
She didn't sleep. She just watched him, cataloging every detail—the way his lips parted slightly, the flutter of his lashes, the way his hand twitched against her hip even in his dreams.
This boy. This beautiful, stuttering, brilliant boy was hers.
And for the first time in her life, Tina Star felt like she hadn't just gotten what she wanted. She'd gotten what she needed.
She pressed a kiss to his forehead, closed her eyes, and let the sound of his breathing carry her into the quiet dark.
The question hung in the air between them, still warm from his lips, and Tina felt her entire body respond before her mind caught up—a pulse low in her belly, a flutter in her chest, the way her thighs tightened around his hips.
She pulled back just enough to look at him, her dark eyes searching his face. His stutter had softened the words, made them almost shy, but there was something else underneath—a confidence that had been growing, week by week, touch by touch. He wasn't the same boy who'd frozen when she first slid into his table.
"From behind?" she repeated, her voice dropping low.
He nodded, his ears reddening. "I—I like—I like watching you. The—the way you move. The—" He swallowed. "The curve of—of your back. Your—your ass. How it—it bounces when I—"
She kissed him, cutting off the stutter, her tongue sliding against his as she shifted her weight, rolling them until she was on her stomach beneath him. His cock slipped out of her, and she felt the loss like a small ache, but then his hands were on her hips, guiding her up onto her knees, and the ache turned into something else entirely.
The twin bed creaked under them, the old mattress dipping where she pressed her weight. She turned her head, cheek against the thin pillow, and looked back at him over her shoulder. The afternoon light caught the scar through his eyebrow, the way his chest was still heaving, the way his eyes were fixed on her like she was the only thing in the world worth seeing.
"Like this?" she asked, arching her back, letting her ass press against his thighs.
His breath stuttered. "Y—yeah. Like—like that."
His hands found her hips, trembling slightly, and she felt the head of his cock press against her entrance—not pushing, just resting there, asking. She pushed back against him, taking him in, and the sound he made was almost a whimper.
"Fuck," he breathed, the word barely audible.
She smiled against the pillow. "Yeah. Fuck."
He started moving, slow at first, his hands gripping her hips as he slid in and out of her. The angle was different—deeper, fuller, hitting places that made her gasp into the fabric of the pillowcase. She let her eyes close, let herself feel every inch of him, the way his thighs slapped against her ass, the way his breath hitched with every thrust.
"Harder," she whispered.
He hesitated. "I—I don't want to—"
"Harder, Tyler." She pushed back against him, taking him deeper. "I can take it. I want it."
His grip tightened, and then he was fucking her harder, the bed frame knocking against the wall, the springs groaning under them. She buried her face in the pillow, muffling her cries, her fingers curling into the thin cotton as pleasure built low and hot in her belly.
His hand slid down her spine, tracing the dip of her lower back, then found her ass cheek and squeezed. Hard. She moaned, pushing back into his grip, and he did it again—a slap this time, sharp and sudden, that sent a jolt through her entire body.
"Sorry—sorry, I—" He started to pull back, but she reached behind her, grabbing his wrist, holding his hand against her skin.
"Don't stop," she said, her voice breathless. "Don't you dare stop."
He didn't. His hand found her ass again, gripping, squeezing, slapping in rhythm with his thrusts, and she felt herself climbing, the pressure building until she couldn't breathe, couldn't think, could only feel—him inside her, his hand on her, his breath ragged above her.
She came with a cry, her body shuddering, her fingers digging into the mattress. He kept moving, fucking her through it, and she felt him follow a moment later, his hips stuttering, his groan buried in her hair as he pressed his forehead against her shoulder blade.
They stayed like that for a long moment, breathing hard, tangled together on the too-small bed. His cock softened inside her, but he didn't pull out, didn't move, just let his weight rest on her, warm and solid and real.
"I love you," he said, his voice muffled against her skin.
She smiled, her eyes still closed. "I know. I love you too."
He kissed her shoulder, then her neck, then the corner of her mouth as he slowly pulled out and rolled onto his back, pulling her with him. She curled into his side, her head on his chest, listening to his heart slow from its racing rhythm to something steady and calm.
"That was—" he started.
"Yeah," she finished. "It was."
He laughed, the sound vibrating through his chest. "I was—I was gonna say 'amazing' but—but yeah. That works too."
She propped herself up on one elbow, looking down at him. His face was flushed, his hair a mess, his eyes soft and dazed. She traced the line of his jaw, the curve of his lips, the scar through his eyebrow that she'd kissed a hundred times by now.
"You're getting more confident," she said. "You know that?"
He blinked. "I—I am?"
"Yeah. A few weeks ago, you wouldn't have asked for that. You would've just—" She gestured vaguely. "Let me do whatever."
He was quiet for a moment, his hand finding hers and threading their fingers together. "It's—it's because of you. You make me—" He paused, searching for the words. "You make me feel like—like I can ask for things. Like I deserve to."
Her heart clenched. "You do deserve to. You deserve everything, Tyler."
He looked at her, his eyes bright, and she saw the vulnerability there—the fear that this was all a dream, that she'd wake up one day and realize she'd made a mistake. She saw it because she felt it too, some days. The fear that she wasn't enough, that he'd realize he could do better, that someone like her didn't get to keep someone like him.
She leaned down and kissed him, soft and slow, pouring everything she couldn't say into the press of her lips against his. When she pulled back, his eyes were closed, his lashes dark against his cheeks.
"Stay," he whispered. "Don't—don't go home tonight. Stay here."
She smiled. "I wasn't planning on leaving."
His arms wrapped around her, pulling her close, and she let herself be held, let herself sink into the warmth of him. The afternoon faded into evening, the light through the blinds shifting from gold to gray, and they lay there, tangled together, talking about nothing and everything.
At some point, his stomach growled, loud enough to make her laugh. "Okay. Food. Now."
He groaned. "But you're—you're comfortable."
"I'll be more comfortable with a full stomach." She sat up, grabbing his shirt from the floor and pulling it over her head. It hung past her thighs, and she saw his eyes track the movement, saw the way his breath caught when she looked back at him. "Coming?"
He scrambled out of bed, pulling on his boxers and a pair of sweatpants, and followed her into the kitchen. The house was quiet, his mom still at work, and the kitchen was small and cluttered, but she moved through it like she belonged there, opening cabinets until she found the pasta.
"I'm making dinner," she announced. "You're going to sit there and watch me and tell me I'm beautiful."
He laughed, sliding onto a stool at the counter. "You don't—you don't need me to tell you that. You already know."
"I know. But I like hearing it."
He watched her cook, his chin propped on his hand, a smile playing at his lips. She caught him staring more than once, and each time she felt a warmth spread through her chest, a feeling so big she didn't have a name for it.
When the pasta was done, she served it in mismatched bowls, and they ate sitting across from each other at the small kitchen table, their feet tangled together underneath.
"This is nice," she said, twirling noodles around her fork. "This—us. Just... being."
He nodded, swallowing. "Yeah. It is."
She looked at him, at the way the kitchen light caught his eyes, at the way he looked at her like she was something precious. And she thought about how different her life was now—how she used to fill the silence with noise, with parties and people and the constant hum of being wanted. How she'd never known that quiet could feel this full.
"I want to meet your mom," she said again. "For real. Not just—someday. Soon."
He set down his fork, his expression shifting. "You—you really mean that?"
"I really mean it." She reached across the table, her hand finding his. "I want to know where you came from. I want to thank her for raising you. I want her to know that I'm not going to hurt you."
His eyes glistened, and he blinked rapidly, looking away. "She's—she's gonna cry. Just warning you."
"I'll bring tissues."
He laughed, but it was wet, and when he looked back at her, his smile was so wide it made her chest ache. "Okay. I'll—I'll call her. Maybe this weekend?"
"This weekend." She squeezed his hand. "It's a date."
They finished eating, and she washed the dishes while he dried, their shoulders brushing, their hips bumping, the small domestic rhythm of it making her heart swell. When the last bowl was put away, he took her hand and led her back to his room, where the twin bed waited, still rumpled from earlier.
"I'm not tired," she said, even as a yawn escaped her.
He pulled back the covers, gesturing for her to get in. "Then just—just lie down with me. We don't have to sleep."
She crawled in, and he followed, his arm wrapping around her waist, pulling her back against his chest. He pressed a kiss to her shoulder, then her neck, then settled his chin on her head.
"I used to dream about this," he said, his voice quiet. "Having someone. Having you. I used to—" He paused, his breath warm against her hair. "I used to think it was stupid. That I was stupid for even hoping."
She turned in his arms, facing him, her hand coming up to cup his cheek. "You're not stupid. You never were. It just took me a while to catch up."
He smiled, small and soft. "You caught up pretty fast."
"I had motivation." She leaned in, kissing him, and felt his arms tighten around her, pulling her closer until there was no space left between them.
The night stretched on, quiet and warm, and when she finally closed her eyes, it was with the sound of his heartbeat in her ears and the knowledge that she was exactly where she was supposed to be.