"Griffin?"
"Yeah?"
"Thank you for letting me choose."
In the darkness, I heard him roll to his side. "I'm not letting you. I'm trusting you to know what you need."
"Same thing, different words."
"No, one's about control. The other's about respect."
I turned onto my side, facing his bed. I could barely make out his profile in the weak city light that seeped the curtains.
"Can I ask you something?"
"Go ahead."
"What do you actually want? Not what's safe or smart.. What do you want?"
Silence stretched between us.
"I want to stop pretending distance means anything," he said finally. "I want to stop acting like remaining three feet away changes what's already happening."
My heart hammered. "Then stop."
I heard him sit up and then stand. The mattress dipped as he sat on the edge of my bed.
"This changes things," he said.
"They've already changed."
He lay down beside me, on top of the covers. I shifted closer until my back pressed against his side.
His arm wrapped around me slowly, and his hand settled against my ribs.
"Just sleep," he said. "Nothing more tonight."
"I know."
We both knew we were crossing a line, but we were also acknowledging what had already emerged between us. We chose proximity despite the risk.
"Tell me this is okay," I whispered.
His arm tightened slightly. "It's probably not, but we're choosing it anyway."
"Why?"
"Because you're right. Everyone can already see it. We might as well be honest about it." He pressed his lips to my hair. "Pretending doesn't keep either of us safe."
I covered his hand with mine. "When did you know?"
"That first day. When you trusted my redirect without hesitation. When you turned and saw me watching." His voice was rough. "When you said my name like it mattered."
"It does matter."
We said nothing else. I fell asleep with his heartbeat steady against my spine and his breath warm against my neck.
Tomorrow, we'd have to figure out what it all meant. Tonight, I felt steady.
