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Mira and Abby having a very romantic and comfortable date.
Abby’s apartment had slowly become a second home for Mira, though she would never admit that out loud without heavy sarcasm attached. The space carried his quiet personality in every corner—books stacked in uneven towers on the coffee table, a soft gray throw blanket permanently draped over the arm of the couch, framed movie posters lining the wall in an oddly precise arrangement. The lights were dim tonight, only a warm floor lamp illuminating the living room, casting everything in a golden glow that made the space feel smaller, softer, more intimate.
Mira was curled against Abby’s side on the couch, her legs tucked beneath his, her head resting comfortably on his chest as if it had always belonged there. His arm was wrapped securely around her shoulders, fingers lazily tracing small circles against the fabric of her sleeve. The television murmured quietly in the background, some low-stakes drama neither of them were fully paying attention to.
She was warm. Completely, dangerously comfortable.
Abby adjusted slightly, shifting so he could look down at her face. She felt his movement and tilted her chin up a fraction, one eyebrow lifting lazily.
“What?” she asked.
He didn’t answer right away. He just looked at her.
She narrowed her eyes slightly. “Why are you staring at me like that?”
“I’m not staring.”
“You absolutely are.”
He smiled faintly, the corner of his mouth lifting in a way that made her heart trip over itself. “Hold on,” he murmured, his voice low.
“What?”
“There’s something on your face.”
She immediately stiffened a little, instinctively lifting a hand to her cheek. “What? Where?”
“Don’t move,” he said softly.
His hand came up slowly, warm fingers gently cupping her jaw. He tilted her face slightly toward the light, examining her with exaggerated seriousness. She blinked up at him, confusion mixing with suspicion.
“What is it?” she asked, trying not to smile.
He leaned in closer, eyes scanning her face as if conducting a detailed investigation.
“Right there,” he murmured.
“Where?” she pressed, her voice softening despite herself.
He paused dramatically.
Then he kissed her.
Not rushed. Not hesitant. Just sure.
His lips met hers gently at first, like he was confirming something, before deepening slightly as his hand tightened softly against her cheek. She made a small surprised sound against his mouth, her hands instinctively gripping the front of his shirt.
When he finally pulled back, only an inch, his forehead resting lightly against hers, he murmured, “It was me.”
Her brain stalled.
“…What?”
“There was me on your face,” he said, trying—and failing—to maintain composure.
Her entire face flushed instantly, heat rushing up her neck to her ears. “You’re ridiculous.”
He smiled, clearly pleased with himself. “I know.”
She attempted to glare at him, but the effect was ruined by the fact that she was still gripping his shirt and very much not moving away.
“That was so corny,” she muttered.
“And yet,” he teased gently, brushing his thumb along her cheek again, “you didn’t stop me.”
She opened her mouth to respond, then closed it.
He leaned down and kissed her again before she could recover, slower this time, savoring the way she melted into him despite her attempts to maintain composure. Her hands slid up to his shoulders, fingers curling lightly at the back of his neck. The kiss lingered, warm and steady, like neither of them had anywhere else to be.
When they broke apart, she was still red.
“Stop looking at me like that,” she mumbled.
“Like what?”
“Like you won something.”
He laughed softly, the sound rumbling under her ear as she tucked herself closer into him, half-hiding her face against his chest.
“You’re very easy to fluster,” he observed.
“I am not.”
“You are,” he said gently, pressing a kiss into her hair. “It’s cute.”
She huffed softly, but she didn’t argue further. Instead, she shifted until she was practically draped across him, one leg thrown over his, her head nestled comfortably under his chin.
He tightened his hold around her instinctively.
There was something grounding about being held like that—his heartbeat steady under her ear, his hand resting warm against her back. The world felt distant. Manageable. Quiet.
“You’re clingy tonight,” he murmured.
She lifted her head just enough to look at him. “You don’t like it?”
He smiled softly. “I love it.”
Her expression softened.
He brushed his thumb gently along her jawline again, slower now, tracing the shape of her cheek with quiet affection. “You look really relaxed,” he added.
“I am.”
“Good.”
She studied him for a moment, then narrowed her eyes slightly. “You planned something.”
He blinked. “What?”
“You have that look.”
“What look?”
“The ‘I’m about to do something thoughtful and pretend it’s casual’ look.”
He laughed quietly. “You’re very observant.”
She shifted up onto one elbow, still half on top of him. “What did you do?”
“Nothing yet.”
“Abby.”
He sighed dramatically, then reached for his phone on the coffee table. “Fine. I was going to order your favorite takeout.”
She blinked.
“And,” he added casually, “queue up that drama you pretend you don’t rewatch.”
She stared at him.
“You hate that show,” she said.
“I tolerate it,” he replied, mimicking her tone from earlier.
She narrowed her eyes again. “You mock me constantly.”
“Affectionately.”
She tried to look unimpressed, but the smile tugging at her lips betrayed her.
“You’re spoiling me,” she muttered.
“I like taking care of you.”
The words landed softly but heavily.
She looked at him, something quiet shifting in her expression.
“You don’t have to,” she said.
“I know.”
He reached up and tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear. “I want to.”
Her throat tightened slightly at that.
She leaned down and kissed him this time—slow, deliberate, her hands framing his face gently the way he had done earlier. He made a soft sound of approval against her lips, one hand sliding up to rest at her waist.
When they broke apart, she pressed her forehead lightly against his.
“You’re insufferable,” she murmured.
“You’re staying.”
She didn’t deny it.
He brushed one more kiss against her lips, softer now, then another to the corner of her mouth just because he could. She laughed quietly, the sound warm and breathless.
“Order the food,” she said finally, settling back against him.
“Yes, ma’am.”
She nudged him lightly. “Don’t call me that.”
He grinned and pulled her closer anyway, kissing the top of her head before reaching for his phone.
As he placed the order, she listened to the steady rhythm of his voice and felt something settle inside her chest—safe, steady, sure.
When he hung up, he shifted slightly so they could both see the television screen better, but he didn’t loosen his hold on her.
“You’re not moving,” he observed.
“I’m comfortable.”
“Good.”
She tilted her face up again, studying him one last time.
“There’s something on your face,” she said quietly.
He blinked. “What?”
She leaned up and kissed him quickly, smiling against his lips.
“It was me.”
He laughed softly, wrapping his arms around her tighter as the opening credits of her favorite drama began to play.
And this time, neither of them were pretending not to enjoy it.