it's uncharted territory for you, having him this close for this long and you find that it's addictive. you know it's a terrible idea, maybe (probably), but you ask if he wants to hang out for a while, open your door and hold it open in invitation. you ask if he wants a water or something as you realize that there's nowhere to sit but the bed and acting as nonchalant as you can, you kick off your sandals and sit down, patting the other side in an invitation for him to get closer.

it's awkward at first, you'll admit. you don't know exactly what to do with your hands and you find that you keep staring at his mouth, blushing too deep to just blame time spent in the sun when he catches you.

you're not even sure how it happens, naturally, without too much preamble or clear thought, but you end up both laying on the bed facing one another, the lights are still on in the room but that doesn't stop it from feeling safe. and while you've already talked about so many things, this is the quiet conversations he's mentioned. he brushes a piece of hair away from your face as you talk about how deeply cracked your heart has been, repeating the action with a tear when you whisper that your dark and broken mind believes sometimes there won't ever be anyone else, even as you share your bed with this man you clearly care for too deeply. you resist the urge to kiss him (even if it's practically painful) when he tells you he understands, because you know he does.

and then you say something stupid, or he says something silly, and you're laughing. the both of you. you're not touching even if you're close enough to share each other's breath, and you're overwhelmed with how intimate it feels.

but you're drowsy from the sun and, to be honest, are always falling sleep on him anyway. you try to keep talking but you can feel yourself making less sense, your eyes heavy, your blinks getting longer.

but it's a luxury to fall asleep with him beside you.