The night had settled into something quieter now. The projector's glow had dimmed, the credits long since rolled, leaving only the soft hum of the speakers filling the space.
Mark was draped over me, his body warm and heavy, his head resting on my chest as he slept. At some point, between the movie ending and the slow pull of exhaustion, he had drifted off, his breath steady, even. The rise and fall of his chest matched mine, syncing in a rhythm that felt effortless. Natural.
I hadn't moved since we finished, since he let his head rest in my chest.
One of my hands lay tangled in his hair, my fingers threading through the soft strands without thought, the other resting on his back, feeling his heart's slow, steady beat beneath my palm. The weight of him against me should have felt strange—too close, too intimate. But it didn't.
It felt safe.
And that was terrifying.
