I don't remember when I first noticed the way you breathe when you're almost asleep.
This is my favorite place. Not a city or a room. But right here — in the space between your heartbeats, where I belong.
Tonight, I turn over slowly so I don't wake you. Your face is relaxed in a way it never is during the day — no meetings, no deadlines, no polite masks. Just you. Just the soft fan of your lashes and the faintest sound of your breathing catching when I press my lips to your collarbone.
But then your eyes flutter open, still hazy with sleep. And you whisper, "Can't sleep either?"