Kyle lay still, feeling the soft weight of Jane's body against his chest. Her back pressed into him, the curve of her spine a gentle line of warmth through the thin fabric of his shirt.
The city lights painted long shadows across the ceiling, and the hum of traffic far below was a distant murmur. He could hear her breathing, even and slow, but there was a tension in her shoulders—not discomfort, but something else. A quiet anticipation.
He shifted slightly, his arm tightening around her waist. She didn't pull away. Instead, she turned her head, just enough to glance back at him. Her eyes were dark, half-lidded, but there was a softness in them that he hadn't seen before. Not the reckless drunkenness from earlier, but a vulnerable clarity. She reached down and placed her hand over his, fingers intertwining.
"Kyle," she whispered, her voice barely audible.
He hummed in response, his lips brushing the back of her neck as she shivered in response.
