I fit.
Liana
He didn't say it was a date.
But he texted me the night before:
"Pick a movie. I'll bring snacks."
So.
I picked one.
And now we were sitting on the couch, popcorn between us, the lights low, the laptop screen casting soft blue across his face.
I wasn't watching the movie.
Not really.
Not when he was this close.
Not when our knees kept brushing—just barely.
He hadn't moved his leg.
And I hadn't either.
So maybe it wasn't an accident.
Maybe this was happening.
I reached for the popcorn.
He did too.
Our fingers touched.
Neither of us pulled away.
I looked up.
He was already looking at me.
Something in his eyes—
Quiet. Steady. But burning.
"Cold?" he asked softly.
I blinked. "No."
"You're shivering."
I wasn't sure if I was.
But when he lifted his arm, I moved before I could think.
Leaning.
Fitting.
Right there under his shoulder, against his chest.
Like I'd done this a hundred times before.
He didn't say anything.
Just pulled the blanket over us both.
And then his hand—
Slow. Gentle. Careful—
Settled against my arm. Then slid down.
Fingers curling lightly around mine.
I didn't breathe.
Not right away.
Then I whispered, "I like it when you hold me."
I didn't mean to say it out loud.
But I did.
And he froze.
Just for a second.
Then his grip tightened—barely.
Enough.
He leaned down, close enough for his breath to tickle my cheek.
"I like holding you," he said. "Probably too much."
We didn't kiss.
Not yet.
But he tucked a piece of hair behind my ear and said—
"You fit here."
Like it was a truth he hadn't realized until now.
And I leaned in just a little more.
Because I did.