Val had gone back to her usual self after making me hold her hostage in my own bed. Thirty minutes. Not kidding. Thirty full minutes of her curled up against me, arms looped around my middle, refusing to let me move until she declared she'd gotten "sufficient emotional support." Her words, not mine.
I told her it was blackmail. She told me I was dramatic.
Either way, she won.
We'd fallen asleep in my room after that. Not together together—nothing happened—but in the same bed, sharing the same blanket, the same quiet space. Honestly, that was more dangerous than anything else. Because even with nothing happening, my heart wouldn't shut up. It was the kind of night where every brush of her hand, every shift of her breath, every unconscious murmur burrowed under my skin and refused to leave.
