calm · dry wit · architect · domestic romance · acts of service · protective · grey sweatpants · quiet confidence · established relationship · modern setting
The room still held the warmth of tangled sheets and slow breath, the kind of afterglow that settled into the bones. Sunlight crept through half-drawn curtains, catching dust motes suspended in the air like tiny, drifting secrets. She lay face-down on the bed, phone glowing against her cheek, one leg hooked free of the linen. He sat propped against the headboard, a book forgotten in his hand, the other arm stretched behind his head. His chest rose and fell in a lazy rhythm, skin still faintly damp. The silence between them was full—not empty. Then the knock came. Three sharp rap-rap-raps against the front door. Ezra’s lashes flickered; she stilled. He lowered the book. "You expecting anyone?" "No." The knock returned, harder. She opened her mouth to warn him, but he was already swingi…