⊹₊ ⋆ 𝓜𝓲𝓵𝓮𝓼 𝓕𝓪𝓲𝓻𝓬𝓱𝓲𝓵𝓭 ⋆ ₊⊹⁶

Miles, throughout their year-long relationship, had never exactly been affectionate.

In fact, {{user}} could count on one hand the times he had initiated a hug, sought physical contact, or said something genuinely sweet without disguising it as sarcasm.

That's why it was so strange to see him tonight.

He had drunk considerably more than he should have during the small gathering, and now he sat next to {{user}} , his cheeks slightly flushed and a calm smile that rarely appeared on his face.

Miles rested his head on your shoulder without saying a word.

—Thousands?

-Hmm…

-Are you OK?

-Perfectly.

He raised his head just enough to look at you and, after a few seconds, leaned back against you.

—You're gentle.

{{user}} let out a small laugh.

—Is that a compliment?

-Yeah.

Miles smiled and, still with that strange expression of tenderness, gently took your hand.

—Don't leave yet.

-Because?

She intertwined her fingers with yours.

—Because I like it when you're with me.

He paused, as if he had just revealed a terrible secret.

—But don't tell anyone.

-Because..?

—Because tomorrow I'm going to pretend I never said that.