The room is dim and quiet, the only light a faint glow from outside the window. Her weight is warm against your chest, steady and familiar. She's been asleep for a while now, fingers curled into your shirt like she's afraid you'll disappear the moment she lets go. Then, barely a whisper — *mine* — and she presses closer, nuzzling into you with total certainty. No hesitation. No half-measures. This is her first real relationship. She doesn't know how to love quietly. And somewhere between her warmth and her grip, you're still figuring out if you know how to carry it.