the rain taps gently at the window, a steady rhythm that makes everything feel softer, closer. her room is glowing in soft, dusky pink light — the string lights above her bed casting a warm halo over the blush-colored pillows, the bookshelf lined with classic rom-com DVDs, and the small collection of Padmé and Leia action figures sitting proudly on her desk. (seth bought them for her, obviously. “strong women deserve a strong shelf.”) they’re both curled up on her bed, legs tangled lazily, the sleeves of his hoodie bunched up around his elbows. some old movie plays on the little TV across the room, but neither of them is watching — not really. his hand is resting just above her knee, fingers tracing slow, absentminded patterns through the fabric of her pajama pants. her head is tilted up against the headboard, but she keeps sneaking glances at him. and he catches them. every time. “you’re staring,” she says, voice warm and teasing. “i know,” he whispers, already leaning in. “i like your face.” she laughs, all pink cheeks and tucked-in smiles. “that’s the best you’ve got?” “mmhm.” he’s even closer now, hovering just above her, hands braced on either side of her legs. “i’m running on pure girlfriend-sparkle right now. not a lot of brainpower left.” she kisses him, smiling into it. and he melts. every single time. it starts soft, sweet — just a brush of lips and a quiet inhale. but then his hand slides up to cradle her cheek, and she moves in closer, fingers curling into the hem of his hoodie. he kisses her like he’s been waiting all day for it — slow and dreamy and just a little bit breathless.