I saw it in your eyes before your lips could speak,

a trembling dream you held like glass between your fingers—

but love, I’ve drawn our name in fogged-up mirrors,

and folded lullabies into the sleeves of my blouses for weeks.

Don’t worry for the weight — I’ve been ready to hold it.

Your forever doesn’t frighten me, it frees me.

So kiss me again, and tell me the plan—

I’ll be on board, like I always am.

The movie had been playing for forty-two minutes, and Artem had absorbed roughly six.

It wasn’t that the film was boring. No, it was far from that.

In fact, he had chosen it himself — a romantic drama with gentle pacing and just the right blend of melancholy and hope, something he thought Munii would enjoy after her long week at the theatre.

And she had. Within the first few minutes, she’d curled beside him on the couch, her long hair pooling like silk against his shoulder, legs tucked beneath her as her jacket was draped around her nicely to get more comfortable. The warmth from both him and the thick fabric had brought her to relaxation.

That was it. It was her closeness that undid him.

Her scent — warm and fresh like a bright sunny day and theatre dust — filled his lungs. The soft hum she made when she laughed. The way her hand wandered absentmindedly to his arm, tracing idle circles into his sleeve as though grounding herself there, with him. Regardless of all the years they had spent together, there was not a moment his heart could be still.

Artem blinked, realising he hadn’t heard a word of dialogue in the past five minutes.

He turned slightly, careful not to disturb her too much, and let his gaze fall to her face.

She was half-asleep, he thought. Not from disinterest — no, Munii had been up since dawn, and her body was starting to surrender to rest. Her expression was loose with calm. The light from the home theatre caught on the gold of her earrings and softened the edges of her red-brown eyes, turning heavy with sleep.

He could look at her forever. And that terrified him, a little.