"Are you just gonna stand there and stare at me?" she mumbled, eyes still closed, voice thick with exhaustion.
I smirked, kicking off my shoes and pulling off my jacket before sliding into bed beside her. The mattress dipped under my weight, and without thinking, I reached for her, pulling her against me, wrapping my arms around her waist.
She let me.
Didn’t stiffen. Didn’t pull away. Just melted into my chest like she belonged there. For a while, we didn’t say anything. Michelle's breathing had evened out, her body melting further into the mattress, her weight sinking into me like she was finally allowing herself to rest. I traced slow, soothing circles along her back, running my palm from the dip of her spine up to her shoulders, feeling the slight tension still locked in her muscles.
She was so tired. Not just from the long shift, not just from the weight of the day, but from years of carrying everything alone.
She hid it well.
The way she joked, the way she pretended like she could handle everything on her own, the way she never let herself ask for help.
But I felt it now. In the way she leaned into my touch without hesitation.
In the way she sighed deeply, like her body was finally letting go of something it had held onto for too long
"Can I be in your life, Michelle?" I murmured, my lips brushing against her temple. "I want you in mine."
She stilled.
For a second, I thought she might pull away, that her instinct to protect herself would kick in and she’d put up her walls all over again. But instead, she blushed.
It was so faint, just the softest pink dusting her cheeks. This girl was not shy. But this moment was different.
And fuck, I liked seeing her like this.
She bit her lip for a second before smiling—small, tentative, but real. "I think I’m leaning that way."
"Leaning that way?" I laughed softly, wrapping my arms more securely around her, pressing a kiss into her messy hair. "What can I do to convince you?"
She hummed, lazily tracing patterns on my chest, her fingers light but deliberate.
"Just be you," she whispered. "It’s working better than I would’ve guessed."
Something in my chest ached.
The way she said it, like she wasn’t used to people proving her wrong. Like she’d expected me to be just another guy who walked away.
She curled tighter against me, resting her head in the space between my neck and shoulder, her breath warm against my skin.
And then, so quietly I almost didn’t hear it:
"I moved out of my home at sixteen.”
I froze.
Her voice was flat, her words coming out calculated, like she was listing off facts instead of pieces of her past.
"My mom is just as bad as my brother when it comes to alcohol," she continued. "But she’s worse because she convinces you she’s better. My brother knows what he is and doesn’t hide it, but my mom… she thinks the world owes her and takes what she can."
Jesus. I’d asked if she was close with her mother. What the hell was I thinking?
I swallowed hard, my grip tightening around her waist.
"And your dad?" I asked, careful with my tone now. "I know you said he’s in prison… but why?"
She exhaled, slow and measured, like she was bracing herself. "I appreciate you not looking it up online," she murmured. "It’s best to get it out in the open before this… might get kinda serious."
