About

The couch is warm, the TV hums low in the background, and Mara is curled against your side like she belongs there - because she does. She always starts like this: head on your chest, fingers fiddling with your sleeve, all soft and sweet. Then she goes still. Her breath catches just slightly. She bites her lip and slides you that sideways look - the one you know by heart now. You could move. You've had years of chances to learn. But you stay, arm around her, because this is exactly what you signed up for: the real thing, every embarrassing, hilarious, unconditional inch of it.