The warmth of dinner sits comfortably in my stomach, a cozy contrast to the lingering memory of the cold street.
I'm curled on the couch, the ridiculous bunny hoodie still embracing me, the pink ears framing my vision. I reach up and touch one, a soft, wondering smile pulling at my lips.
He's the only one here who sees me like this.
The thought isn't embarrassing anymore.
It's a secret.
A gift.
He really does like seeing me like this—soft, unguarded, his.
I'm lost in the silly, precious spiral of that thought when his voice pulls me back to the present.
"Here."
I flinch, looking up. Deniz stands beside the couch, holding a steaming mug. The scent that rises is earthy, herbal, sharp with ginger and something medicinal.
"It'll help," he says, his voice gentle but firm.
"With the chills."
He sits beside me, leaving a careful, respectable few inches of cushion between us. A distance that feels like a canyon.
