A story of us

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The soft hum of the city outside her window was the only sound filling the quiet space. The glow from the streetlights seeped through the curtains, casting long shadows across the living room. She hadn't moved in a while, still curled up on the couch, watching him sleep.

It felt strange—watching someone so closely, memorizing the way their chest rose and fell, the way their brow furrowed slightly even in sleep. But there was something about this moment that she didn't want to let go of.

She wasn't used to this. Letting someone in. Letting someone stay.

And yet, here he was.

A part of her thought about waking him up, telling him he should go home, but another part—a quieter, softer part—didn't want to.

Instead, she just sat there, letting the weight of the evening settle over her.

Eventually, as if sensing her gaze, he stirred. His eyelashes fluttered before he let out a sleepy breath and opened his eyes. It took a moment for him to register where he was, but when his gaze landed on her, a slow smile spread across his face.

"Hey," he murmured, voice thick with sleep.

She smiled back. "Hey."

He stretched, his arms reaching above his head before he let them drop back down, his hand brushing against hers. "Did I fall asleep?"

She nodded. "Halfway through the movie."

He let out a sheepish chuckle. "Figures. You should've woken me up."

She shrugged. "You looked comfortable."

He studied her for a moment, something unreadable in his expression. Then, he sat up, rubbing the back of his neck. "I guess I should head home."

There it was. The moment where she should nod and let him go. The moment where she should do what she always did—keep her distance, protect herself.

But she didn't want to.

"Stay," she said before she could talk herself out of it.

His eyes met hers, searching. "Are you sure?"

She nodded, the words coming easier than she expected. "Yeah. I am."

He didn't question it. Didn't press her for a reason. He just nodded, settling back against the couch, his arm draping casually over the backrest.

And just like that, the space between them felt smaller.

---

She woke up the next morning to the sound of soft shuffling in the kitchen.

Blinking against the morning light, she sat up, realizing that at some point in the night, she had curled up against him. Their bodies had fit together naturally, his arm around her, holding her close.

And now, he was… making coffee?

She stood, stretching before making her way toward the kitchen. Sure enough, he was there, his back to her as he poured steaming coffee into two mugs.

"You're up early," she mused, leaning against the doorway.

He turned, flashing her a grin. "Couldn't sleep much. Figured I'd make myself useful." He held out a mug. "Hope you like it strong."

She accepted it with a small smile. "You didn't have to do this."

"I wanted to."

There was something about the way he said it—so simple, so matter-of-fact—that made her heart ache in the best way.

She took a sip, savoring the warmth. "So, are you a 'wake up early' kind of person or a 'couldn't sleep' kind of person?"

He smirked. "A little of both. Mornings have a way of sneaking up on me."

She chuckled. "Yeah, I know the feeling."

They stood there for a moment, sipping their coffee in easy silence. The morning air was crisp, the kind that made everything feel fresh, new.

It wasn't long before he spoke again, his voice softer this time. "You really meant it last night, didn't you?"

She glanced at him. "Meant what?"

"When you asked me to stay."

She swallowed, her fingers tightening around the warm ceramic of her mug. "Yeah," she admitted. "I did."

He nodded, as if letting the words settle between them. Then, he reached out, his fingers grazing the back of her hand. "I'm glad."

Something about that simple gesture, that quiet acknowledgment, made her feel like she was standing on the edge of something bigger than herself.

She had spent so much of her life avoiding moments like this, keeping people at arm's length. But now? Now she wasn't sure she wanted to anymore.

---

They spent the rest of the morning in the kind of lazy, unhurried way that made her wish time would slow down.

At some point, she curled up on the couch with a book while he flipped through the channels on her TV. They didn't need to fill the silence with constant conversation—being in the same space was enough.

Eventually, though, reality called.

He sighed, setting his empty coffee mug on the table. "I should probably head out soon."

She nodded, even though she didn't really want him to go. "Yeah."

But before he moved, he turned to her. "Can I see you again later?"

She raised an eyebrow. "You're already planning our next hangout?"

He grinned. "What can I say? I like spending time with you."

The words were simple, but they made her stomach flip.

She rolled her eyes, though there was no real annoyance behind it. "Fine. Later."

He stood, grabbing his jacket. "It's a date."

She laughed, shaking her head. "I don't remember agreeing to a date."

He leaned down slightly, so close she could feel the warmth of his breath. "Then consider this me making it official."

Her breath caught, but before she could say anything, he pressed a soft, lingering kiss to her forehead.

Then, with one last smile, he was gone.

---

As she stood in the doorway, watching him disappear down the street, she realized something.

This was new.

Not just the way she felt about him, but the way she felt about herself when she was with him.

For the first time in a long time, she wasn't running. She wasn't guarding herself so fiercely that she missed out on the good things.

She was letting herself feel.

And that?

That was the scariest, most exhilarating part of all.

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